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ABEL ALLNUT T. 


A NOVEL. 




BY THE AUTHOR OF 


« HAJJI BABA,” “ ZOHRAB,” &c. 


And if I have done well as is fitting the story, it is that which I desired; but 
if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain unto. 

2 Maccabees, xv, 38 , 


IN TWO VOLUMES* 

VOL. I. 


OF THE 
sup.’. council; 
.JURiSDIC I It 


PHILADELPHIA: 

E. L. CAREY & A. HART. 


1837 , 




TZ3 

.Mats 

-Rfe 

2 > 













\ 



IdPSWiry of Supreme Council A. A.Saft . 

Aug 10, 1040 



ADVERTISEMENT. 


It frequently happens that when a hen is sitting, a 
strange egg is introduced into the nest, and thus a bird 
*of a different species is brought to life with her brood. 
It is so with this work. My strange egg will be found 
in the eleventh chapter of the second volume, but only 
half hatched, because I leave it to others to bring it 
to maturity. An antiquarian subject, tending to illus- 
trate sacred matters, it may be said, has no business 
in the pages of a novel ; but I venture to answer to 
that, that its fitness depends upon the mode of intro- 
ducing it ; and I hope it will be found that the mode 
I have adopted is not wholly objectionable ; since it 
at one and the same time illustrates the character of 
one of the essential personages of the tale, and tends 
to the discussion of an interesting question. I had of- 
ten thought of bringing the subject to notice in some 
separate form ; but, all things considered, I think it just 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


i t 

as likely to be read in this manner as in the paper of 
a literary journal or some antiquarian miscellany. 
This hint, however, I hope, will be sufficient to such 
of my readers as only read for amusement’s sake, to 
warn them of the existence of such a subject; whilst 
it may, perhaps, induce those grave and learned per- 
sons who hold all fiction as trash, to relax their digni- 
ty, and admit “ Abel Allnutt ” to the honour of a 
place on their table. 

When a poor fellow falls overboard and gets adrift, 
there is an ingenious contrivance on board ships, called 
a life-preserver, which is launched after him; and if it 
acts properly, he may probably save his life by cling- 
ing to it. When I see “Abel” launched into “the vast 
ocean of society, one of the ran nantes struggling for 
existence, I cannot help looking to my chap. xi. v. 2, 
as his life-preserver, which may, probably, keep his 
head above water a little longer than others who are 
cast adrift at the same time with himself, with nothing 
but a puff . i whatever their merit, to keep them from 
sinking. 


THE AUTHOR. 








Of THE 

Sgp/.COUNOfL^ 

‘.JURISDICTION; ;> ro^, * 


ABEL ALL NUTT. 

"A . ( *•'•' . . 


■ \ > r' ' • ■ .. . H-; : 

CHAPTER I. 


Some account of the Family of Allnult. 


In a remote part of one of the western counties of Eng- 
land, thickly surrounded by trees, overgrown with ivy, 
and secluded from the public gaze, was situated an an- 
cient, small red-brick house, that was often compared to 
the face of an old lady, peeping through the close frills and 
ribands of her cap, looking snug, neat and cheerful. From 
a back study, about ten o’clock one fine summer’s morn- 
ing was heard to issue the sounds of a German flute, which 
although both door and windows were closed, would find 
its way to the ears of the inmates, and occasion exclama- 
tions of either disapproval or the contrary, according as 
their nerves might or might not be affected. The indivi- 
dual who played the flute was a short, faded-looking man, 
about thirty-five years of age, whom we beg leave to intro- 
duce to our readers as the Abel Allnutt of our title-page. 
A peculiar benignity of aspect was the only charm that 
adorned his person ; for his face was pale, his teeth indif- 
ferent, his hair scanty, and there was an awkward simpli- 
city in his manner which indicated that he had mixed little 
with the world. He had been sickly from his youth up- 
ward, and it was owing to the great care his sisters had 
taken of him (for they had lost their parents when he was 
still of an early age,) that he escaped the unrelenting per- 
Vol. I. 2 


14 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


seditions of consumption. They had combated with all 
their might his excessive love of the flute, and this had 
been almost the sole cause of dissension between them 
during the many years which they had passed together un- 
der the same roof. 

As he was blowing his way successfully through one of 
the most difficult of Mozart’s solos, suddenly the door of 
his study opened, and his eldest sister, Aunt Bab, as she 
was usually called, appeared, holding the door-handle with 
one hand and resting her arm upon the door-post with the 
other. She was many years older than her brother, and 
was a matter-of-fact-looking person, who enjoyed the prin- 
cipal management of the house, and whose decision on all 
matters which concerned the family generally was conclu- 
sive. Her eyes were light, though piercing, her hair inclined 
to red and now thinly streaked with gray, and in her whole 
manner and demeanour there was that life and bustle which 
denoted a notable and intelligent woman, — for, be it said, 
a lack of comeliness is the parent of many^virtues. 

“How can you go on in this manner she said. to her 
brother with an expression that might have passed for 
anger and reproof; “it is too bad, when you know that 
it was but yesterday you had that alarming fit of cough- 
ing.” 

“ My dear Barbara,” said her brother, in the most placid 
tone, and without showing a symptom of ill humour, “I 
will just get through this solo, and then I promise to lay by 
my flute. I would not have taken it up this morning, but 
that I dreamed of this difficult passage all the night through, 
and by shutting my door and windows I thought that I 
should not have been heard.” 

“ You are mistaken, though,” she said : “ I will never let 
you alone so long as you have dealings with that horrid 
instrument; and when you know that it may be the death 
of you any day, and leave me and my sister without your 
protection, it is really too bad— and, what’s more, very 
selfish.” 

“ Well, then, I’ll play no more,” said Abel, with the great- 
est good nature ; and so saying, he unscrewed his flute, 
placed it in its case, and shut up his music-book. “ There 
— will that do for you?” 

“ That’s a good man !” said his sister. “ But what I 
wanted to speak to you about was our dinner to-day, — 
you know this is John’s last day, therefore what shall we 
have ? He will be here at five with Mary. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


15 


“ What shall we have 1” said Abel, slowly turning his 
thoughts from seraphic Mozart to vulgar pudding: “ why, 
what does John like best 1” he inquired. 

“ I think he likes most things,” replied his sister, be- 
coming thoughtful at the question. Hence ensued a pause, 
followed by one of those discussions upon the important 
subject of dinner so apt to puzzle even the wisest heads, 
and which, in this instance, ended in that never-failing com- 
promise, that universal point of agreement in English taste, 
viz. a leg of mutton. 

“ If that be the case,” said Bab, winding up the argu- 
ment, ‘Met us give him a leg of mutton at once.” 

“Very well,” said Uncle Abel, rubbing his hands as if he 
had settled a great question ; “ let us give him a roasted leg of 
mutton.” 

“ Done !” said his sister ; “ we’ll have it” 

“.But what does Mary like'!” added Abel ; “poor Mary 
must have what she likes-— we must not forget that dear- 
est girl.” 

“Girls of her age,” said Aunt Bab, “don’t care much 
what they eat : poor thing, I fear she won’t have much ap- 
petite, now that she is about to lose her father for such an 
uncertain length of time. But I will take proper care of 
her : — she shall not be starved, I promise you — we shall be 
able to make out a very, good dinner, and John will go 
away happy.” 

“Poor dear John!” exclaimed Abel; “would that he 
could always secure so good a dinner! I fear that, con- 
sidering the life he is about to lead, he will be often obliged 
to rough it upon much more indifferent food.” 

Thus much having been settled. Aunt Bab went her 
way to make the necessary preparations. The reader must 
be told that the occasion of this dinner teemed with con- 
sequences of great import to the family of which I have hi- 
therto afforded but a glimpse ; and as it will be impossible 
for him to proceed without some knowledge of its history, 
I beg leave to submit the following short account to his 
notice. 

The family of Allnutt, for such was the name, claimed 
an ancient descent, and had been allied to many noble fa- 
milies. Its actual chief was the Earl of Knutsford, a proud 
nobleman, who enjoyed great political influence. He w’as 
a distant relation to the individuals already mentioned ; 
and it was a received truth, that if certain events should 
happen, and certain persons should die, the title and estates 


16 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


would fall to the lot of the family now under considera- 
tion. Mr. Allnutt, father to Abel, had been a country gen- 
tleman of about two thousand pounds a year ; he married 
a lady of no importance in point of family, but of great 
excellence of character. They had had a family of four 
children, two daughters and two sons. Barbara-, the eld- 
est, whose name had gradually run through a scale of di- 
minutives until it had stopped at Bab, was some years 
older than the others. The second child was John, the 
third Fanny, and the youngest Abel, he being about twenty 
years younger than his eldest sister. They became or- 
phans when Barbara was about thirty years of age, and 
consequently the duties of managing the family had de- 
volved upon her — duties to which she was quite equal. 
Owing to the active and bustling turn of her character, she 
had secured so great a share of influence that the others 
submitted almost implicitly to her guidance. 

Although the Earl was scarcely aware of the existence 
of this branch of his family, and if he were, would perhaps 
not have recognised any of its individuals as belonging to 
himself, the father, Mr. Allnutt, prided himself much upon 
his ancestors, whose names he asserted were to be found 
in Doomsday Book, and never ceased hinting the possibility 
of one day himself enjoying some of its hereditary digni- 
ties. He had lived in a handsome old mansion ; and al- 
though his fortune was small, yet he could not resist the 
vanity of making an elder son of John, upon whom he 
settled his house and estate, leaving to his three other chil- 
dren five hundred pounds per annum between them — that 
is, one hundred pounds a year to each daughter, and three 
hundred to Abel. 

John at an early age had shown such a turn for science, 
and as he grew up became so conspicuous for the enter- 
prize and boldness of his character, that his father easily 
acceded to his wishes of placing him in the army. He en- 
tered the engineer service, and in the course of time, be- 
came a distinguished officer, serving with great credit in 
the war of the Peninsula, by which he gained as rapid pro- 
motion as could be acquired in that branch of the service. 
At the peace he returned home as Major Allnutt. So long 
as he was employed by others, with the responsibilities of 
his profession hanging over him, his conduct was distin- 
guished by prudence and sagacity ; but no sooner was he 
his own master, than he became the plaything of his own 
schemes, and the ready instrument of every schemer. He 


ABEb ALLNUIT. 


17 


was one of those visionaries who conceive they can stride 
into affluence by a single step, and by one bright thought 
gain an eminence which others only attain by years of in- 
tense study. His quickness in the field of battle, which 
had gained for him many a bright laurel, made him con- 
clude that' he might be equally successful in the arts of 
peace, and he rushed with the same ardour upon what he 
thought was an indisputable invention as he did upon an 
unguarded point of the enemy’s line. He wrote unan- 
swerable pamphlets which were never read, for which he 
never got more than the warm thanks of those to whom 
he presented them, backed by the bill of costs of his pub- 
lisher. He invented a ship that was never to sink, in which 
he embarked half his fortune, and just escaped with his 
life as he was exhibiting her capabilities to an astonished 
crowd of patrons and spectators. He then consoled him- 
self by endeavouring to convert young town thieves into 
honest yeoman; in which having .failed without taking 
warning of experience, he devised a scheme for rearing 
salt-water fish in fresh water, hoping ^to supply the town 
with cod and turbot to the discomfiture of Billingsgate, 
and in the success of which he was about exulting, when, 
as the Armenian said of his horse, he exclaimed, “ had they 
lived but another day, his experiment would have been 
completed In these and such like pursuits, at the end of 
a few years, he found his fortune so considerably diminished, 
if not entirely dissipated, that he was obliged to turn his 
views to some more certain mode of acquiring a fortune. 
It was about this time that England began to run mad upon 
the subject of the emancipation of the Spanish colonies 
from the mother country, upon loans to the new republics, 
and particularly upon mines and mining companies. A 
universal fever of generous patriotism raged throughout 
the country in their favour. One of our greatest states- 
men had called them into existence. Patriotism begat the 
rage of lending money, lending money begat a desire of 
large interest, and with an increase of interest all the world 
seemed at once to have gained a short cut to unlooked-for 
affluence, John Allnutt was seized with the raging mania 
in its worst form. He ran about like one demented ; wrote 
pamphlets full of tables, calculations, and predictions; 
talked of the flood of wealth which was about to visit the 
world with the same certainty as a certain class of enthu- 
siasts now announce its end, and rendered himself so con- 
spicuous by the zeal of his extravagant hopes, that one of 

2 * 


18 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the principal Mexico mining companies was too happy to 
secure him as the director of their concerns. 

At the moment of this our history he was expected to 
arrive at the home of his brother and sisters, accompanied 
by his daughter, on his road to join the ship that was to 
take him to Mexico. It must be told that he had married 
early in life a beautiful young person, who had left him a 
widower after a few years had elapsed, in the possession of 
this only child. Mary Allnutt was now about seventeen 
years of age. Her beauty was so perfect, that it would be 
difficult to say which feature excited the most admiration. 
There was great delicacy, accompanied by a brilliant ap- 
pearance of health; grace shone in all the movements of 
her person, which was veiled by such retiring modesty, 
that the awe it produced discouraged impertinent glances; 
whilst in her lovely face there beamed so much goodness 
and intelligence, that the moment it was seen the beholder 
was impelled by a wish to acquire her friendship and ap- 
probation. She felt all the value of a father at a time that 
she was called upon to make a sacrifice of that possession. 
She loved him with warmth and even enthusiasm, for she 
also partook of the ardour of his character ; and it was 
only the hope of seeing him restored to her in a short time, 
which prevented her from insisting upon accompanying 
him in his present expedition. It was settled that she was 
to live with her uncle and aunts in the country during his 
absence ; and as she loved them almost with the same de- 
votion that she did her father, she composed her mind into 
something like philosophical submission at the loss which 
she was about to sustain. 


CHAPTER II. 

The character and pursuits of the family are gradually 
developed by a variety of minute circumstances. 

The inmates of Ivycote (for that was the name of their 
cottage) were almost bursting with impatience for the mo- 
ment of seeing their brother and niece during the long day 
on which they were expected. Abel had done little else 
than walk down the lane which led from the house to the 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


19 


high road to endeavour to catch the first glimpse of their 
approach; — the active Barbara, laying aside the usual 
routine of her occupations, as multifarious as those of a 
secretary of state, had walked from the kitchen to the 
dining-parlour, and from the parlour to the kitchen, in- 
specting, first, the various concoctions which were in pro- 
gress in the one, and then overlooking the arrangements 
which W’ere making in the other, and ever and anon exhi- 
biting her head at the house-door, until she became weary 
with anticipation ; — whilst Fanny, whom we have still to 
present to our readers, remained in a listless state of ex- 
pectation, seated, with her hands across, in the minute 
apartment called the drawing-room. Abel and his sisters 
were usually called uncle and aunts, in compliment to their 
only niece, whom they worshipped with almost divine ho- 
nours ; and as it was a title of which at least Barbara and 
Abel were proud, we will occasionally continue so to call 
them. But Fanny, who was still at an age when an aunt- 
dom is not quite a desirable appointment, rather endured 
than approved of that too frequent reminder of the lapse 
of .time. She was loitering on the neutral ground which 
lies between undisputed youth and more debatable middle 
age — at least such was her view of her case. In the minds 
bf those who would not . allow’ poetry to usurp the place of 
matter-of-fact, she was settled down into a bona fide old 
maid; but in her own view of the matter the case was 
quite different — she adhered to youth with unflinching con- 
stancy, and blinked the question of age as the man deeply 
in debt avoids the sight of his banker’s book. In her dis- 
position she was as much a prey to apathy and indolence 
as her sister was active and stirring. It was only when 
some new individual in the form of man presented himself 
that her energies were roused, and straightway the powers 
of both her mind and body w’ere brought into vigorous ac- 
tion — from being an habitual dawdler she then became an 
active fidget. Her taciturnity would then give way to 
much talking, her eyes would be armed with long prac- 
tised artillery, and all th.e graces of attitude would be sum- 
moned up to aid the levee en masse of all her forces. Withal, 
in the main she was amiably disposed — prone to charity, 
and always ready to produce pincushions and workbags 
whenever some mighty neighbour projected a fancy bazaar, 
accompanied by a ball, for the benefit of the poor. 

She was seated at her little work-table netting a purse 
and quietly waiting the tide of events, when the sharp and 


20 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


piercing voice of her sister was heard calling to her from 
the other side of the house. 

‘•Fanny,” she cried, “do you know whether John sleeps 
on feather-bed or mattrass 1” 

Fanny listlessly turned her ear to the sound and said, 
“ What '!” 

Again the question was repeated ; when Fanny, urging 
her soft voice to the highest pitch, exclaimed, “I don’t know 
— I never know what any one sleeps upon.” 

Aunt Bab then thought it right to follow up her question 
by appearing herself ; when a long and anxious discussion 
took place between the two sisters about John’s general 
habits, his mode and manner of sleep — whether he was 
chilly or the contrary — whether he required much or little 
covering, two or more pillows, and whether he was accus- 
tomed to something warm when he went to bed. Much 
uncertainty and doubt existing upon these topics, they 
called in to their councils an old woman who had been 
a servant in the family from her childhood, who was better 
acquainted with John’s habits than any one else. 

“ La ! Miss Barbara,” exclaimed old Betty, when the 
question concerning the mattrass and feather-bed was put 
to her ; “ I recollect as well as though it were yesterday, 
that just before Master Johnwent to the wars, he slept in 
the back attic that’s over Miss Mary’s room,-®-she was 
quite a little thing then, — and once in the middle of the 
night, she ran in to- me in a mortal fright, poor thing ! say- 
ing, she was sure some monster or great beast must be 
sleeping over her head, for she heard it growl quite plain ; 
and sure enough, as I’m alive, I went with the dear crea- 
ture into her room and heard an awful noise sounding 
through the deal-boards. I was afraid something was 
wrong with Master John, and so, thinks I, l’il steal up to 
his room and see what is the matter. I then gently opened 
the door, and what d’ye think I saw 1 Why, there was 
Master John wrapt up in his great military cloak, with his 
portmantel under his head, fast asleep on the bare boards 
alongside of his own bed which remained untouched, just as 
I had made it up in the morning. After that, Miss Barbara, 
I don’t think we need much mind which be uppermost, the 
mattress or the feather-bed ; — Master John would sleep 
sound on the top of the kitchen dresser — that’s what he 
would.” 

“ What could he be doing that for, Betty 1” said Fanny. 

“ Why, Miss, I taxed him with it the next morning, and 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


21 


bless his face — I see it now — says he to me, * Betty, says 
he, ‘ I’m now a real soldier, and soldiers must be hardy : it 
won’t do for me to be sleeping on a bed when the bare 
ground will do as well.’ I remember it as though it were 
yesterday.” 

That is so like John !” exclaimed Bab ; u he never does 
a thing like anybody else.” 

“ He was always a strange boy,” re-echoed old Betty ; 
“ and that’s the truth on’t.” 

Not long after this conversation had taken place, when 
the patience of the whole house was nearly exhausted in 
expectation, the sound of wheels was heard in the lane, and 
as they approached . the house it was ascertained that the 
post-chaise was in sight, and soon after it stopped at the 
door. Abel rushed out to greet his brother, followed by 
his sisters, backed by Betty and the old man-servant ; and 
by the time the vehicle had come to the end of its career, 
every living thing within the house was present. John 
leapt out of the chaise first, and was followed by his daugh- 
ter. Seldom does one see a family-greeting so full of feel- 
ing and affection as that which took place on this occasion. 
Kissing and embracing, and other palpable demonstrations, 
are not so frequent in our frigid latitudes as among more 
southern nations ; but with a set of simple and warm-heart- 
ed country folks who had scarcely ever stirred from their 
village, such a show of feeling may be allowed as quite na- 
tural, and it actually took place. John Allnutt was a hand- 
some, animated looking man, "who although now in the 
zenith of middle age, had the buoyant spirits of a school- 
boy. He kissed and embraced every thing that came in 
his way, even to old Betty, who, drawing up with a smile 
on her face, wiped her lips with due gratitude for (to her) 
so rare a mode of salutation. 

The interchange of all the proper inquiries and exclama- 
tory greetings having taken place, the family commenced 
a short course of comparative anatomy upon each other’s 
persons. Bab found John grown fat, Fanny thought him 
thin ; Abel said Mary had grown tall, Mary asserted that 
Abel was grown young; John found Bab blooming, and 
then fell to admiring Fanny’s hair ; whilst Abel, still keep- 
ing his eyes upon his neice, patted her cheek and would 
have said she was beautiful, but he checked his too enthu- 
siastic admiration, fearing to make her vain. Bab and 
Fanny then began their scrutiny upon Mary, and criticised 
every inch of her growth as if they had been cheated out 


22 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


of it by her absence, and then asked John what he thought 
of her. The affectionate father, casting his parental eyes 
on the charms of his daughter, whilst tears sprung 
into their channels, said with an overflowing h£art, “ She 
is a dear good girl, that’s what I think of her,” and 
then kissed her cheek and forehead with all the rapture of 
a kind and endearing nature. During this scene in which 
the family were settling their different disks, old Betty stood 
at a distance with her apron in one hand and the other up- 
lifted, looking, and smirking, and exclaiming, “ Well, who 
would have thought it !” and “ dear me I” and “ well-a-day!” 
when being kindly noticed both by John and his daughter, 
she departed to evaporate her wonderments and ejacula- 
tions to her companions in the kitchen. 

When the palpitations of first meeting had somewhat 
subsided, Aunt Bab would have hurried her brother and 
his daughter to their rooms, to throw off the dust of 
the road, so anxious was she to exhibit to them the pre- 
parations she had made for their comfort; but John was 
so full of his schemes, that he could not be prevented from 
a fit of explosion. „ Little heeding the seclusion in which his 
sisters and brother lived, and their consequent ignorance 
of what was doing in either the political or commercial 
world, he exclaimed with exultation in his accent, 

l< Well, Abel, have you heard the news'? Capital news 
to be sure !” 

“ What news ?” exclaimed Abel, Bab, and Fanny with 
one voice. 

“ Famous news ! I can tell you,” said John. 

C: Oh, such news !” re-echoed the gentle Mary in a sub- 
dued voice. 

“What is it, pray?” said the others. 

“ Why, they have positively found silver in the Coffer,” 
said John with great satisfaction in his manner. 

‘‘Have they?” said Abel — “Have they?” said Bab — 
“ Have they ?” said Fanny, all in the various tones of per- 
sons who are puzzled. 

“ They have indeed,” said John, little minding the igno- 
rance of his auditors ; “ and what’s more, we are to have 
it.” 

“ Shall . we indeed !” exclaimed Bab, as if she now un- 
derstood perfectly what was meant. “ Well, that will be 
nice !” 

‘‘This news of the silver luckily "just reached before 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 23 

I left London,” said John, “and the directors are full 
of it.” 

“ Why, I thought we were to have it,” said Bab. 

“ Have what 1” said John. 

“ The silver, to be sure,” said Bab. “ Did not you think 
so, Abel !” said she turning to him. 

“ To say the truth,” said Abe), “I know not what to think. 
John says that silver has been found in the coffer, and that 
we are to have it; but which coffer- he means, he has still 
to tell us.” 

“ P.apa, you said nothing about Perote, that’s true,” said 
Mary, smiling, and amazingly amused at the mistake in 
which her uncle and aunts had fallen : “ ’tis the Coffer of 
Perote that papa means.” 

“ Who may Perote be,” inquired Aunt Fanny with ani- 
mation : “ Is he any thing to us 1” 

“No, no, my dear,” said John, with a good-natured 
smile, as if he was recovering from a dream ; 4 ‘ you have 
mistaken me, or perhaps you don’t know. Perote is nfrt 
a man — it’s a mountain — it is a high mountain standing 
conspicuous in the chain which skirts the Mexican coast, 
and is distinguished by a large square rock on its very 
summit, which the Spaniards have assimilated to a trunk 
or coffer, and thus t.ave assigned this name to it. The 
mining company have heard that a mine has been disco- 
vered close at hand, of which they have acquired posses- 
sion ; and as it is situated in a healthy climate, and much 
nearer to the sea than the one to which I was about origi- 
nally to proceed, this circumstance became to me a matter 
of joy and congratulation.” 

“ And much greater to me,” said the gentle Mary, taking 
her father’s hand ; “ for then you will be so much nearer 
us, and we shall so easily hear from you.” 

“Oh, is that all said Abel, Bab, and Fanny. 

“ But, John,” said Bab with great earnestness, “ you have 
never told us to this day what you are going to do at this 
Mexico you talk so much about. All the people here say 
that engineer officers know more about mines than any 
body else, and that when a mine is to be blown up they do 
it. But then, I say, if you blow up the mine, what becomes 
of the silver and gold inside 1” 

“ It’s very true,” said John, “it’s very true that the bu- 
siness of an engineer comprises the knowledge of mining; 
but that applies to fortifications and walled cities — he there 
undermines and there blows up. But the mining I am to 


24 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


undertake is a totally different thing — I am to dig into the 
bowels of the earth for the precious metals, and get as much 
silver and gold as I can out of them.” 

“ Oh,” said Bab in a lengthened note , lt now I understand. 
It is time for you to be making money, after having lost 
so much. Will it be long before you get some!” 

“ The time is uncertain, but the result is certain,” said 
John with great confidence. “ What has been done before 
will be done again. Why, Bab,” said he, taking both her 
hands into his, and looking at her straight. in the face, “do 
you know that in 1825, Guadalajara coined 676,073 pesos ; 
Durango, 800,000; Zacatecas, 3,000,000. In 1810, Gua- 
najato produced 500,000 marcs of silver, and 1500 marcs 
of gold; Veta Grande, 100,000; and Catorce, 600,000 pesos. 
— There — what do you say to that! and that with mala- 
caties only, and without the aid of a single steam-engine !” 

Bab, confounded by such a descent of hard names and 
round numbers upon her rustic mind, could scarcely 
breathe from astonishment, and drawing up along “In- 
deed !” from her inmost throat, stood staring, uncertain at 
the meaning of this display of knowledge. 

“ Are all those gentlemen with long names, coiners !” 
inquired Fanny. 

“No — they are the places where the ore is found,” said 
John; “and I flatter myself that when I get up our steam- 
engine with my improvements, I shall raise double the 
quantity.” 

“ Well,” said Bab, “ whatever it may be, I shall be quite 
satisfied even with what it w 7 as before.” 

“And what may a malacati be!” inquired Abel. 

“ Oh,” said Mary, who seemed to be well informed upon 
every subject which interested her father, “ a malacati is a 
large leathern bag which descends to the bottom of the 
mine, and being filled, is drawn up to the surface by means 
of a large wheel worked by horses, — is it not so, papa !” 

“ Why, you would be as fit to be a director of a mining 
company as I am,” said her father: “I think I must take 
you with me to help me.” 

“ Do, do, my dear papa !” exclaimed Mary with joy and 
animation shining in her expressive features; “let me go 
with you, — I would give worlds to go with you !” 

Upon these words her uncle Abel and her aunts assumed 
the most serious gravity of aspect, and the first addressing 
his brother, said, “John, you really are not serious in say- 
ing this — are you !” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


25 


‘‘John,” argued Bab, ‘‘ would you really sacrifice your 
daughter to the fury of naked savages, and let her live in 
the woods upon roots and hips and haws, without a rag to 
her back, only because she is conversant with the name of 
an outlandish bag 

“No, no,” said John, — ‘‘no, my dears, you utterly mis- 
take me — 1 am only joking ; I would not allow Mary to run 
any risk whatever, were I to become as rich as the Conde 
de Regia himself She shall stay quietly with you until 
my return : there is only one agreement which I wish to 
make, and which you must all swear to ; which is, that she 
shall not marry, except it be upon most unexceptionable 
grounds, until my return. She has promised me as much, 
and I require the same at your hands.” 

‘‘ Marry, indeed !” exclaimed Fanny ; “ and who is to 
marry'her, I should like to know 1 There is not a creature 
within fifty miles of us likely to marry her.” 

“ Who knows 1” said John ; “ husbands, they say, come 
down the chimney.” 

<l I am sure none has ever come down our chimney,” 
said Fanny with a doleful significancy in her accent and 
manner. 

“ Well, John, we promise,” said Aunt Bab, “ we will 
watch over your treasure with the same care that you 
would if you were here yourself.” 

“ Yes,” said Abel, “ trust to me ; and what’s more, trust 
to her,” patting his niece’s cheek at the same time : “ she 
will never deceive any one, that I will willingly take my 
oath of.” 

With these words they dispersed, only to return to din- 
ner, of which they stood much in need. 


CHAPTER III. 

Showing the excellence of that saying , “ Let well alone .” 

The little oak parlour was snug; the sun gleamed across 
the landscape, and the table, with its clean white cloth and 
glittering accompaniments, spoke volumes for the perfec- 
tion of Aunt Bab’s housewifery. John came in rubbing his 
hands fejoicing, accompanied by his blooming daughter, 
Vol. I.— 3 


26 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


whose young blood flowed briskly through her veins as 
she contemplated the comforts before her, and looked on 
the kind faces by whom she was surrounded. Old Betty, 
with clean cap and apron brought in the dinner; whilst 
the old man-servant, honest Brown, as he was called, who 
acted as butler, valet, groom, and gardener, waited at table. 
When they were all seated, and Aunt Bab’s fidgets had 
somewhat abated, after her anxious countenance had duly 
conned the array and circumstance of every dish, and 
when the first calls of hunger were allayed, the ardent 
John merrily pouring himself out a glass of wine, exclaimed, 
looking round him at the same time, “ My dears, here is 
health and prosperity to us all ! And now I will tell you of 
a glorious scheme which I have in my head for you, which 
will at one blow make you richer at least one-third than 
you are at present.” 

Aunt Bab, who had been intent upon carving the leg of 
mutton, was the first to exclaim, “ John, what do you 
mean 1 How can you manage that 1” 

iC Ah !” exclaimed Mary, looking very arch, “ I know how 
— don’t I, papa 1” 

You’ll be a conjuror indeed,” said Abel, u if you can 
do that.” 

4< Now hearken,” said John ; “ the thing is as easily done 
as transferring ourselves from this parlour to the next room. 
You have been hitherto satisfied with drawing a small re- 
venue from your three per cents. — now you shall enjoy 
six per cent, at once, witli much better security for your 
money.” 

“Well, I declare !” said Bab, opening her eyes, and 
smiling with delight as she eyed John, in whom she had al- 
ways placed implicit confidence— “ well, that will be a ca- 
pital hit ! I can scarcely believe it notwithstanding, although 
I am sure you would never deceive us, John.” 

‘‘ Deceive you !” said John, very gravely. ‘‘ The thing 
is as clear as noonday. Nobody thinks now-a-days of 
drudging on with the small interest derived from the pub- 
lic funds. In this remote corner of the country you can 
knovv nothing of what is going on in the world. Here have 
continents been opening, new governments forming, new 
sources of trade expanding, the energies' of man developed, 
fresh life and vigour infused into the whole scheme of our 
existence; and here you are sitting quiet and unconscious 
in your cottage, without a single thought beyond the inte- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


27 


rests of the neighbouring village, as if you belonged in an- 
other planet'}” 

“Well, who would have thought it!” exclaimed Aunt 
Barbara ; and turning to Abel, she said, “ Abel, did you 
ever hear of all this 1 Here has all this been going on, 
and we know as little of it as the babes unborn !” 

“ How can we know what is going on,” said Abel, drily, 
“ when we never move from this place ! Well, John, tell 
us your scheme.” 

“ My scheme is this,” said John. “ You must send an 
order to your bankers in London to sell your stock out of 
the Three per Cents, and to buy in Mexican stock. By 
that single operation you will, I dare say, get at least an- 
other two huudred a-year to yourselves.” 

“Shall we, indeed !” said Bab, laying down her knife and 
fork. “ Let us do it, Abel, at once.” 

“ Abel,” said Fanny, “ let us do it to-morrow.” 

“ I am ready to do what you like,” said Abel; “ but ” 

“ There is no but in the case,” said Bab; “John says it, 
and therefore it must be right. What possible objection 
can you have 1” 

‘‘You can have none,” said Fanny, whose imagination 
had now fully seized all the advantages likely to accrue 
from this increase of revenue. ‘‘ But how shall we get at 
the bankers ? — they are generally agreeable men, and some- 
times handsome.” 

“ That is easily done,” said John. Then turning to Abel, 
he said, “ Pray let me hear your objection, Abel, if you 
have any. There is nothing like a free discussion, parti- 
cularly in money matters ; — one ought to have no delicacy 
there.” 

“ Why, you know best, John,” said Abel, very modest- 
ly, “ and therefore what I might say is perhaps pure folly ; 
but it struck me, that it might be better to remain content- 
ed with a smaller interest and the security of one’s own go- 
vernment, than with larger interest and the uncertain se- 
curity of a foreign state.” 

“ There is wisdom in what you say,” answered John ; 
“ but recollect how very differently Mexico is situated to 
other states. ‘What greater security can you possibly re- 
quire than a whole continent full of silver and gold!” (At 
these words Bab and Fanny looked triumphantly at Abel.) 
“ The very stones of the country are silver — most of the 
precious metals which now exist in the world have been 
produced from her mines — and she is about again to pour 


28 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


forth her treasures. After that, would you refuse to trust 
your funds in her possession 1 Believe me, that the riches 
of the whole Bank of England together are not to be com- 
pared to one of her mines. Why, the new mines of Tlalpu- 
hahua alone will give you more security than a whole re- 
giment of bank-directors.” 

“ There — what can you say to that !” exclaimed Bab. 
“ No, Abel, you have no chance in argument with John. 
No — we are resolved — we will do what you tell us, John — 
that is determined ; but I want you to explain one thing to 
me, which I have never yet understood. Y ou tell us to 
sell out of the stocks — now, what are the stocks ]”• 

“Why, as to that,” said John, “I might taik and explain 
to you till to-morrow, and you would perhaps never un- 
derstand. Generally, then, I may s&y, they imply govern- 
ment securities for money lent to the state, for which the 
owner gets a rate of interest graduated by circumstances.” 

always thought,” said Fanny, “that they were some- 
thing like our village stocks : — if you got your money 
into them, like the poor man’s leg, it was difficult to get 
it out.” 

Then, turning to John, Bab said, ‘‘Now you must put 
us in the way of accomplishing this job. You are going 
away to-morrow, and therefore cannot do it for us — you 
must leave us directions what we are to do.” 

“ There is nothing so easy,” said John, “ and nothing 
which you cannot do as well as I ; but, in order to pre- 
vent all difficulties, I would recommend you to have re- 
course to your neighbour Woodby. He made all his for- 
tune in the Stock Exchange, and he will tell you precisely 
what must be done.” 

Upon this there ensued a pause in their deliberations. 
To put oneself under an obligation to a neighbour in the 
country is matter of deep consideration ; and Aunt Bab, 
whose opinion was always consulted in family discussions 
of this class, remained silent, as if her mind was held in a 
state of doubt. 

“ The Goold Woodbys, you mean,” she slowly said to 
John, ‘‘of Belvedere Halil Do you think that would be 
advisable 1” 

“And why not!” said John. “He was a stock-broker 
himself, and surely he will be too happy to give advice upon 
what he knows best.” 

“ Ah, that is just what he does not like to do,” answered 
Bab ; “ does he, Abel 1” 


. ABEL ALLNUTT. 


29 


Abel answered, “ Why, as to that, I have never found 
him otherwise than very friendly and civil to me, and ready 
to talk upon all subjects. He is fond, ’tis true, of referring 
to his ancestors, and to those of his wife, the Goolds ; and 
therefore, perhaps, it is too readily inferred that he might 
wish to drop the broker while he asserts his ancient li- 
neage. But that is only village gossip : I dare say, upon 
an occasion of necessity, he will not refuse to give his opi- 
nion on a point in which he is evidently so great an au- 
thority.” 

‘‘What do you think of it, Fanny 1” said Barbara to 
her sister. “ You know Mrs. Goold Woodby and her 
daughters better than I do ; — -don’t you imagine they would 
think it odd our going to consult them upon family mat- 
ters ?” 

“ Why, perhaps they might,” said Fanny; “ they have a 
trick of thinking every thing odd: but, as we are to be the 
winners, what can it signify!” 

“ It will signify thus much,” rejoined the sapient Bab, — 
“that our private affairs will become the public talk of the 
w r hole parish ; and then, if our means of living are increased, 
as John assures us they will be, the Woodbys will be sure 
to take the whole credit of it to themselves.” 

“My dear Bab,” said John jestingly, “ one would sup- 
pose that you were about to appoint Mr. Woodby your 
father confessor, and to divulge to him every secret of 
your mind. Allow Abel to be your negotiator : men un- 
derstand these matters better than women, and they are 
settled in a few words. Go into any of the great marts of 
business, and you will see hundreds of thousands of pounds 
transferred from one pocket into another with little more 
than a word on each side and a nod. Two women will 
expend more words in a country market-place upon buy- 
ing and selling a cabbage., than are expended by two of 
the other sex in settling the disposal of whole fortunes.” 

Barbara had but a small opinion of Abel’s abilities in 
any thing that related to a bargain, and she consequently 
shook her head at John’s proposal ; but, as she was quite 
alive to the charms of an increase of revenue, she gra- 
dually ceased all further opposition, and it was at length 
settled that Abel should proceed the next day to Belvedere 
Hall. 

The remainder of the evening was occupied in listening 
to John’s schemes for the future ; which, if they were here 
given with the animation and circumstantiality with which 

3 * 


30 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


he detailed them, would afford a lively picture of his cha- 
racter —that is, of a genuine sanguine man. Like all men 
of that character, his imagination would get the better of 
his sober reason; and as when a high wind acquires pos- 
session of a weather-cock it veers about at its pleasure, so 
his mind was the play of every scheme, however impracti- 
cable. No circumnavigator had ever planned so vast a 
scheme as that which he now described. His intention, 
after having reached his destination and set on foot the 
objects of his mission, was to explore every mine in the 
Mexican continent; settle the quantity and quality of its 
minerals; trace its geological construction; survey the 
country from shore to shore, in order to construct a cor- 
rect map, and thus refute Humboldt ; make collections of 
natural history ; transmit all its principal vegetable produc- 
tions to England ; write a code of laws for the future regu- 
lation of its republic; establish a navy; model its army; 
and, in short, renovate and reconstruct its whole being, 
moral and physical. He had thoughts of performing the 
same service to all the new states of the South American 
continent; he hinted at the possibility of making the name 
of Allnutt as famous as that of Americus Vespusius: and 
then, having settled to his satisfaction that portion of the 
globe, he had thoughts of crossing the Pacific, and keep- 
ing up a running fire of renovation and regeneration 
among the different islands of its archipelago ; thus to cir- 
cumnavigate the globe, and, so he expressed himself, sur- 
round it with a zone of civilization of his own making. 

His auditors listened with open mouths and uplifted 
brows at the immensity of his intentions : they, who never 
having stirred from the confines of their village, looked 
upon an excursion to the market-town as a feat of uncom- 
mon enterprise. Contented and happy in themselves, with- 
out ambition for the future, they would have continued to 
live on as they had hitherto done, had they not been roused 
by their brother’s energies to increase their means of ex- 
istence. Another incentive was the presence of their niece, 
whose advancement and settlement in life they felt them- 
selves called upon to promote. ’Tis true that her father’s 
request that no steps should be taken during his absence 
to promote her marriage stood in their way: but hers was 
now the age for gaiety ; their pride at possessing so beau- 
tiful and matchless a niece could not be restrained, and 
they longed to achieve an innocent triumph over their 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


31 


neighbours, by infusing love and admiration — and perhaps, 
let it be said, envy — into their breasts. 

“ But, my dear John,” said Barbara after a pause, “ how 
are you to mind the business you are going upon, and to 
make your fortune at the same time, if you are to do all 
these things'!” 

“ And how will you be able to return to me,” remarked 
Mary in her most affectionate manner, “ if you are to go 
so far as you now propose 1” 

John contended that much more was to be performed in 
a short space of time in travelling abroad than could be 
conceived by those who remained inactive at home. Owing 
to the great improvements in the science of navigation, 
men crossed and re-crossed the globe with much more 
certainty than they did formerly ; and' he asserted that he 
was ready to lay a good bet, in' the same manner as he 
would stake his money on a steeple-chase, that he would 
go quite round the globe in a year, taking every continent 
which, came in his way, without turning to the right or left 
to avoid it. He continued to talk with so much indiffer- 
ence of the long voyage which lay before him, and made 
it so much a matter of course that he would return at the 
prescribed period, that he materially blunted the edge of 
those feelings of sorrow which would otherwise have been 
excited by his departure; and he so well succeeded in 
making every one pleased with their own immediate pros- 
pects, as well as participating in his own views, that they 
parted for the night with none of that misery which usually 
precedes the taking leave of one who is much beloved. 


CHAPTER IV. 

An introduction to an important personage, both in his own 
estimation , as well as in this history. 

Early the following morning every body was astir to 
witness the departure of the active, and indefatigable John. 
During his hasty breakfast he did not cease reverting to 
the thousand schemes which engrossed his mind, and par- 
ticularly to the one touching the immediate increase of the 
family revenue. His lovely daughter could not speak from 


32 


AB£L ALLNUTT. 


emotion, but sat looking fondly at him until the moment 
when he arose to depart, when with her last embrace she 
entreated him to return to her as soon as he could be re- 
leased from his present engagements. Embracing his sis- 
ters, he made promises of writing by every opportunity ; 
and his last words to Abel, as he warmly shook his hand, 
were “Consult Woodby, and lose no time.” Upon that, 
springing into his chaise, he drove off at a rapid pace, 
taking the road to Liverpool, where he was to embark for 
Mexico. 

During John’s short visit, Barbara had placed the reins 
of government in his hands, and she yielded to whatever 
laws he chose to proclaim without the smallest reluctance, 
for his word was to her a command; but the moment he 
was gone she again- reigned supreme, and her power was 
duly acknowledged. Fanny became almost an automaton, 
and only seemed to expand into life when the interests of 
mankind were brought into discussion. Mary, by her 
lively and docile disposition, diffused life and pleasure 
wherever she appeared; whilst Abel, in whom the total 
abnegation of self, with a reserve, let it be said, of occa- 
sional restiveness in favour of his flute, made him always 
ready to meet the wishes of every one who chose to com- 
mand him. 

When the sound of the wheel was fairly out of hearing, 
and the house restored to its usual repose, Barbara conti- 
nued the subject which John had so much insisted upon. 
Addressing herself particularly to Abel, she said, “ We 
know more about the Goold Woodbys than poor dear John 
could possibly know, — it stands to reason that we do ; and 
therefore we ought to ask their advice with caution. I am 
sure I’m right.” 

Whenever Abel heard these formules of words “It stands 
to reason,” and “I’m sure I’m right,” with which Aunt 
Bab generally set forth her opinion, he always withdrew 
from further discussion, and generally submitted without a 
reply. 

“ I think so to,” said Abel. 

“ Well then, since that is the case,” continued Bab, “ you 
must go to him to-day as if you were merely making a 
morning visit. I think 1 know Mr. Woodby well, and his 
habits of life. He will probably say something about the 
weather, — which is a subject he can say a great deal upon ; 
when you will have an opportunity of asking how his 
crops are getting on, — which is another subject he likes ; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


33 


and when you have got him well into that, you may pop 
upon him all at once with < What do you think of the 
French Revolution! He will be charmed when he hears 
that question, and he will go on for an hour about it : and 
when he comes to the part where he says, ‘ I don’t know 
what will become of us, and things never were in a worse 
state,’ you may then ask him the price of stocks, and how 
things look in the City ; when he will tell you all that we 
want to know. It stands to reason that you must go 
round and round him cleverly until you bring him to the 
point, and not frighten him by any one positive question. 
I ’m sure I ’m right.” 

“ I ’ll go then at once,” answered Abel : “ John said ‘lose 
no time.’ ” 

“Do — you had bettter,” rejoined Barbara, still full of her 
diplomacy. “ But mind now — weather first — crops next 
— French Revolution after that, and then the price of 
stocks ; — he ’ll tell you all by that means as easily as I can 
bring all the poultry about me by sprinkling a little corn 
here and there with judgment. Now* mind; let him have 
his talk out, — he’ll then tell you all. It stands to reason — 
I ’m sure I ’m right.” 

Abel, docile to her bidding, did as he was ordered, and 
taking up his hat and stick, walked away intent upon this 
great scheme ; and before he reaches his destination, a walk 
of about two miles, it will be proper to inform our readers 
of matters relating to the house and its inhabitants towards 
which he was bending his steps. 

Mr. Goold Woodby, as John had correctly stated, had 
amassed a very considerable fortune in the city, principally 
by dealings in the Stock Exchange. At the time of this 
our history, he had retired into the country, w^here he had 
bought a large estate ; and not being known in the neigh- 
bourhood, dropped the habits of a citizen, and took upon 
him the airs of a country gentleman. During his mercan- 
tile life he had been known by the name of Wouldbe; but 
when he retired from trade, suddenly he discovered that, 
during the civil wars, a cavalier of that name had attained 
great notoriety by an act of treachery; and being anxious 
to make it known that that person was in fact his ancestor 
and related to the first families, upon pretext of disclaiming 
the odium attached to the name, he expended a large sum 
at the Herald’s College, in order to change ft to his present 
more rural appellation of Woodby. By this ingenious 
mode of applying the lucus ci non lucendo, he taught the 


34 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


world what no one would ever have cared to find out — 
that he was a man of old family, — a fact to which he was 
always happy to allude. Acting upon the same principle, 
he married a lady of the name of Goold, possessing riches, 
with sufficient personal attractions, who also founded much 
of her happiness upon the pride of birth ; for she clearly 
and truly was able to demonstrate that she was a lineal 
descendant of Sir Jugg Goold, Knight, the well-known 
goldsmith to Charles the Second. With the junction of 
these names he flattered himself to have composed a very 
euphonical cognomen ; and having tumefied himself and his 
possessions by all the pomp and circumstance of two shields, 
and as great a variety of heraldic insignia as he could ob- 
tain for his money, he gradually persuaded himself that he 
was a very considerable personage. 

He built himself a house, or rather a castle. The utmost 
ingenuity had been displayed in making its outward ap- 
pearance as little like a living house as possible. The 
windows were generally so placed, that when the sun 
shone, they caught the shadow of a projecting buttress in- 
stead of its cheering warmth. Gutters poured forth their 
contents from frowning embrasures ; whilst small turrets, 
with loop-holes, protruding through dense masses of brick 
and mortar, like hats on pegs, were hung about the flat 
walls. The chimneys, which, when seen, give an appear- 
ance of snugness and hospitality to an unpretending house, 
here were hidden behind cunning angles offortifieation,andas 
they disgorged their smoke, made one suppose the building 
was on fire, since the proper effect was not seen to proceed 
from the appropriate cause. A perfect flat and even range 
of country had been selected, upon which to raise this 
structure; but it had been called Belvedere, (or, as it was 
usually pronounced by the inhabitants, Belvideer ,) from the 
circumstance of a small break in the dense woods which 
surrounded it, and which enabled the curious in fine pros- 
pects to discern a barn, the village steeple, and two hay- 
stacks peeping through the trees. 

The grounds and shrubberies were laid out with the 
same taste which had presided over the house. Straight 
lines were forbidden ; every thing was serpentine. The 
whole plan appeared to have been made with a view of 
placing every part of them as much at variance with com- 
mon sense as possible. A walk across a flat lawn was tor- 
tured into the same figure as it might be through a wood, 
and made a straightforward man feel as if his hip would be 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


35 


put out of joint in winding through it. Chairs and benches, 
composed of the most tortuous and the roughest of wood, 
apparently contrivances for the afflicted with distorted 
spines, were plentifully distributed about the grounds by 
way of ornament ; and every where it seemed as if art had 
done its utmost to caricature nature. 

Abel walked forward with alacrity to perform his ap- 
pointed task, although he had certain misgivings as to the 
ultimate result of the change he was about to effect. We 
wish to bring the reader better acquainted with his cha- 
racter, for he is destined to perform one of the principal 
parts in the forthcoming narrative. We have alread)’’ said 
that, owing to the sickly nature of his constitution, he had 
been nursed through his boyhood and youth at home. He 
had been but indifferently educated, for application of any 
sort had been interdicted ; therefore in that respect he was 
extremely deficient. But what he wanted in mental ac- 
quirement and personal advantages was fully balanced by 
the excellence of his disposition. He might be said to pos- 
sess, without cant or exaggeration, all those virtues which 
are called Christian, and which when brought into action, 
contitute a good and consequently a great character. His 
distinguishing qualities were meekness and humility: he 
thought so little of himself, that he was always happy to see 
others preferred before him. Benevolence was conspicu- 
ous in his countenance, manners, and actions ; and how- 
ever small the interest might be which his first appearance 
inspired, nobody could converse with him without after- 
wards feeling kindly disposed towards him. All his incli- 
nations and desires were on the side of virtue. He Was 
severe towards himself, but forgiving towards others. 
Wherever a charitable action was to be performed, a wrong 
to be redressed, or forbearance to be exercised, he was the 
first to take the lead, and ever the first to give way if others 
required him to retire. Such a character, in the bustle of 
life, was likely to be passed over, often laughed at, sneered 
at, and made a butt of : it required to be well known to be 
appreciated. 

Upon approaching the place of his destination he found 
masons at work upon a magnificent entrance composed of 
two stone lodges, castellated and turreted, and connected 
by a long range of iron railing, curiously wrought, Opening 
at intervals by two gates, each surmounted by a shield ac- 
companied by a motto. 

Abel cast his eyes up at these emblems of vanity, and, 


m 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


smiled at the pretensions which they announced. He crept 
up towards the principle entrance ol the castle almost with 
the same timidity that a shy man encpunters a whole room- 
ful of company, and rang the bell. He was received by a 
servant in that sort of dress which announces unreadiness 
to receive visitors, seeing it was still early in the day, but 
was duly ushered into the presence of his master. 

Mr. Goold Woodby’s person did not second the claims 
which he had set up either to ancient birth or gentleness of 
blood. He was among men what a cabbage may be among 
plants. He was altogether a rotund man : his head was 
as round as a cannon-ball, his body protuberant and sphe- 
rical, and his legs adorned by calves so round and muscu- 
lar, that they might have performed the duty of balusters. 
There was much vulgarity in his whole appearance; al- 
though he had an intelligent look, and wielded an eye that 
was alive to everything but the extreme ridicule of his own 
person. His dress was that of a substantially wealthy man, 
— he adhered to the old-fashioned row of buttons at the 
knees, and strong drab gaiters beneath, showing a whole- 
some azure woollen stocking in the interstice. A long, 
massive gold chain, with a bunch of embossed seals, hung 
down from that slope in his person where the fob is situated, 
and dropped a perpendicular a great deal more conspicu- 
ous than does a cable pending from the bows of a Dutch 
galliot. His hair was slightly sprinkled with powder, and 
his shirt owned a frill that flowed over his waistcoat. His 
manners betrayed a singular mixture of vulgar intimacy 
and cold reserve. When he thought he was too concilia- 
tory, all at once he would stop short, a§ if he had forgotten 
something, and become almost rude. His shake of the 
hand, that indication of man’s feelings, was truly charac- 
teristic : he gave his hand, but shook his elbow ; which was 
as much as to say, “ I leave you to decide between my 
hand and my elbow how matters stand between us.’’ He 
was apt to be ceremonious to- his inferiors, but would ex- 
pand into affected ease and jollity with people of conse- 
quence, particularly if some equal or inferior was at hand 
to see him. To any one who had affinity to persons of 
rank he was invariably attentive, and would always, by 
hook or by crook, particularly when others were present, 
allude to that affinity. He was therefore the professed 
friend of the Allnutt family; although, out of consideration 
to their poverty, there was always a tincture of protection 
in his manner towards them. With Abel he adopted the 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


37 


jocular patronising manner ; and when on this occasion his 
name was announced, he immediately placed himself in a 
corresponding attitude, and when he approached him, gave 
him one hand, and placed the other on his shoulder, whilst 
he exclaimed, “ Ah, Allnutt, how are you 1” What passed 
between them will be read in the ensuing chapter. 


CHAPTER V. 

The consequences of the foregoing introduction described. 

Although Abel was ever ready to hearken to his sister’s 
directions, yet it did not follow that he always obeyed them ; 
for he felt that conviction which we believe is inherent in 
the male sex, whatever may be the weakness of a man’s 
person, his mind must ever maintain the superiority over 
that of the woman. On this occasion he had almost en- 
tirely forgotten the instructions with which he had been 
furnished on departing for his embassy; and when he came 
into contact with his negotiating party, he determined to 
allow the conversation to take whatever course it might 
please. However, he did not long remain in suspense how 
to act ; for Mr. Woodby had no sooner delivered himself of 
his first ejaculation, than he went on as follows. 

« It is very good of you to come. I suppose now you 
came to see my new lodges, which all the world comes to 
see. Now an’t they handsome 1 I flatter myself they 
will be as fine an ornament to the county as any thing in 
it. You remarked the double shields, I hope!” 

“ Yes, indeed I did,” said Abel, 

‘Ah, well, that’s right of you! You see we don’t do 
thi‘ngs in the common way; it’s done in the most expensive 
manner, and Stone, the architect; tells me they beat Lord 
Thorofield’s lodges hollow.” 

“ They are certainly very conspicuous,” said Abel. 

“ I meant them to be conspicuous,” rejoined Woodby. 
I think it quite right, in these times, that people should 
show themselves properly : it is necessary that those who 
have weight should assert it by their acts. Now good 
, lodges, I maintain, does that.” 

Vol. I.— 4 


38 


A BEL ALLNUTT. 


‘‘Yes,” said Abel; “their architecture is solid, to be 
sure. ’ 

“ Certainly it is ; and so it ought to be in these times. 
But did you remark the shields'? I am sure you could not 
have overlooked my shields. I think they show capitally; 
Lord Thorofield has only a crest.” 

“ Yes, I remarked the shields,” said Abel. 

“ Well, what did you think of them?” continued Wood- 
by, not waiting for the answer. “ You know the history 
of the Woodby arms, don’t you? did I never tell it you 
before ? (he had done so a hundred times.) Why, it is just 
this: — You know the Wouldbes are one of the most an- 
cient families in the kingdom ; and I am told that the bull’s 
head regardant over the frog gonjient , for so they call it in 
heraldry, is intended to record the ambition of the first 
baron of the family — who, in his arroganee, aspired to no 
less a thing l^ian the crown, — and that the motto * t)0U- 

ttttU Ct tOUtJl*AC/in old French, — in what they call Nor- 
man-French, — means, ‘ 1 would be , if 1 could be .’ Is it not 
strange ? You see I have thought it right to adopt the old 
arms ; although I never could think for a moment in these 
times to preserve a name so degraded by its want of loyal- 
ty to its sovereign as was that of my ancestor, and, there- 
fore, as a matter of duty — as an open declaration of my 
principles— I thought it right to change it, and to adopt the 
one I now bear. Now don’t you think I am right?” said 
he, closing upon Abel, and taking one of his buttons in 
hand, — “ don’t you think it was handsome of me ? It cost 
me no less than three hundred pounds at the Heralds’ 
College. Who is the man, now-a-days, I should like to 
know, who would voluntarily come forward and expend 
three hundred pounds upon loyalty?” 

“None but yourself,” said Abel, smiling, “that’s cer- 
tain !” 

“That’s right 1” said Woodby, taking the words as a 
compliment ; “ but you see I did it though : and I’ve rea- 
son to think it has been well taken at court. The king 
granted the patent as soon as it was asked for, and, I as- 
sure you, it was done in a very handsome manner ; and 
when I kissed hands upon the occasion, his majesty, with 
the utmost condescension, said, ‘How do you do Mr. 
Woodbine?’ I ventured to put him right, and said, ‘Wood- 
by, your majesty,’ upon which he smiled, and so did all 
the surrounding princes and lords, and I never was so. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


39 


pleased in all the whole course of my life. Is not that 
charming 

“ Very !” said Abel. 

“But you remarked the other shield too, did you not?” 
said the vain man, who was now completety run away 
with by his subject. “ Well, that, you know, contains the 
Goold coat of arms ; that’s the shield of Mrs. Goold Wood- 
by’s family. The story attached to that is one of the 
most interesting, -and, I may say, peculiar, in the whole 
history of England. It has appeared in the ‘ Anecdotes of 
celebrated Goldsmiths.’ You see, Goold was goldsmith 
to King Charles II : he is well known to have worked for 
that monarch’s unfortunate father, for it is so attested by 
records in the family, fac-similes of the bills sent in being 
in existence to this day, and therefore at the Restoration 
he was appointed by royal sign manual the court-gold- 
smith. He was a remarkably shy man, sober in his habits, 
dressing invariably in a suit of unpretending drab, and 
keeping clear of all the license of those days. Well, the 
king one day, in a merry mood, determined to knight him, 
and straightway he was dubbed Sir Jugg Goold. — But the 
story of the shield is to come. You know, in those days, all 
shops were designated by signs, which hung out conspi- 
cuously upon handsomely ornamented iron posts. Well, 
in addition to the knighthood, the king ordered that a coat 
of arms should be added, which should consist of a hand wield- 
ing a hammer, and that the motto, out of compliment to the 
excellence of the man, should be CfltcUll tJOJWUtt/ 

which, you know, means in Latin, ‘ Gold how good!' which, 
I may say, is a sort of double entendre , as we say in French, 
or a pun, as some pretend it is, — for Charles was fond of a 
joke, — which means both things — that the metal gold is 
good, and that the man Goold was good also ! Now, is not 
that a curious historical coincidence or fact? Well, this was 
done. A handsome sign, containing the coat of arms and 
the motto, was forthwith executed with great skill by a 
painter of that time, and hung over the door of the shop 
until the fashion of signs went out. That sign — the origi- 
nal sign — I have now in my possession, having come to me 
through my wife. You’ll own that’s a thing to be proud 
of?’’ 

a It is, indeed,” said Abel. 

“ Therefore, I think, in these times,” continued Woodby, 
“ every man of ancient family ought to take particular care 
to exhibit the titles to his descent, and thus uphold what it 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


is now-a-days the fashion to despise, — to destroy those fatal 
levelling principles which were first introduced into this 
country by that ever-to-be-lamented French Revolution.” 

At these words Abel recollected the injunctions of his sis- 
ter, and hoped the moment was now at hand when he 
might introduce the object of his visit with its proper ef- 
fect. “That was a sad event, that’s most certain!” said he. 

“Indeed, I can speak feelingly,” said Wood by, “for I 
was as near being one of the victims of its fury as ever 
man was.” 

“ How was that 1” said Abel. 

“ What ! did you never hear that?” exclaimed Woodby, 
as if he had just found a fresh point of departure. I was 
as near done for as you can imagine. I was young at the 
time: I went to Paris on business. You ought to have 
seen what the Revolution was to have any idea of it! 
Why, what do you think they took me for?” 

“ I really don’t know,” said Abel. 

“ Why, they took me for a gentleman,” said Woodby. 

“ Did they indeed !” said Abel. 

“Yes,” said Woodby, “as sure as you stand there they 
took me for a gentleman, because I only blew my nose 
with a white pocket-handkerchief, when I ought to have 
done it with a tricolor one. They were as nearly seizing 
me up to the lamp-post as possible, and hanging me with- 
out judge or jury, when having discovered that I was an 
Englishman, they let me drop souse into the mud as if I 
was nothing at all. Few can say that of themselves. I 
only wish that you had seen me !” 

“ I should have been sorry to do that,” said Abel. “ But 
I fear we shall long feel the effects of the French Revolu- 
tion.” 

“Ay,” said Woodby, looking sad and drawing a deep 
sigh, “I don’t know what will become of us, — things were 
never in a worse state !” 

Abel, recollecting the words of his sister, then said, 
“ But the prices of stocks keep up pretty well, don’t they ? 
1 think my brother John calls them the barometer of the 
times.” 

At the words “ prices of stocks,” Woodby’s face clothed 
itself with a new expression, and, like the old war-horse, 
that pricks up his pars upon hearing the sound of a trum- 
pet and longs to be off, he felt at those words that all the 
fascinations of the Stock Exchange had come upon him 
With their former power. “ Prices of stocks !” he exclaimed ; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


41 


u what do you know of the prices of stocks 1” his eyes at the 
same time twinkling with a true broker’s twinkle. 

Abel then no longer delayed giving him in as few words 
as possible the real object of his visit, and asking his ad- 
vice upon the best mode of proceeding to put his scheme 
into practice. 

Aunt Bab had been perfectly right in her judgment upon 
Woodby’s character: for it is probable that if Abel had 
made a point blank statement of his case, and asked his 
advice as if he were addressing himself to a professional 
merchant, Woodby would have entrenched himself in his 
shields, his lodges, and his dignities, and taken offence; but, 
brought on, as it had been, in this gradual and seemingly 
unpremeditated manner, the whole broker was declared at 
once by a natural impulse, and he embraced with eager- 
ness the scheme proposed to his consideration. He in- 
quired, with an interest that astonished and delighted Abel, 
in what manner he could serve hifn; and when he found 
that it was his intention to invest his money in the Mexican 
funds, he did not hesitate for a moment in encouraging his 
design, and gave him all the proper directions how to put 
it into execution. He said that disposing of one’s money 
with such great interest and such like securities was like 
eating one’s cake and keeping it, — that it was better than 
actual gold and silver, for that it saved one the trouble of 
a banker, inasmuch as it was buried in the earth. He then 
informed him how he might get a proper power of attorney 
made out to empower his bankers in London to act for 
him, and said that he himself would write to his own bank- 
ers to facilitate the operation. 

Abel was all gratitude at this act of kindness from one 
upon whom he had no other claim than the fortuitous one 
of being a country neighbour, and made' his acknow- 
ledgments accordingly. Woodby, however, was by no 
means a disinterested adviser, although he looked like a 
man who would fain believe that he was entitled to grati- 
tude. The truth, be it spoken, was, Woodby was himself 
possessor of a large sum of money in the Mexican funds; 
and as an experienced navigator,, when he sees a small 
cloud rising in a suspicious point of the horizon, knows 
that a storm is likely to ensue, so, by certain indications in 
the temper of the Stock Exchange, he began to apprehend 
that Mexican stock might soon be at a discount, and there- 
fore was only watching a fitting opportunity to get rid of 
his venture with the least 1 possible loss. What then was 

4 * 


42 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


his delight when he found that, instead of an expected loss, 
his good stars were about to visit him with unlooked-for 
gain! 

“Mexico,” said Woodby, “is an astonishingly richcoun- . 
try. We are told that every domestic article there is made 
of silver, down to their wash-hand basins, pewter pots, &c. 
You can’t go wrong in investing your money in its funds: 
besides, they say, you know, as new brooms sweep clean, 
why shouldn’t new republics pay to the day'!” 

“Ah,” said Abel, “ that is what my brother John told us. 
He said that they had more money than they knew what 
to do with: but I have since been thinking, Mr. Woodby, 
if that is the case, why do they want money from us ! 
Perhaps you can tell me.” 

“ Why, you see,” answered Woodby, looking wise, “it 
is just this: — You may have your barn full of corn; but 
what is the use of it if you have none of the implements 
■necessary to thresh it out, and no mill wherewith to grind 
it, before you make it into bread ! So it is with the Mexi- 
cans ; — they possess the ore, but they want the means of 
turning it to use. They borrow from us to provide them- 
selves with the means, for which they pay a great interest, 
being certain ere long to repay the capital borrowed. — 
Pray,” said Woodby with an air of business which spoke 
much for the broker, and but little for the owner of shields 
and the descendant of an ancient family, — “ Pray, what 
may be the amount of the stock you require!” 

Abel mentioned the amount to the best of his knowledge; 
when Woodby, making up a look composed of friendship 
and protection, said, “ Now, Allnutt, l’il show you how 
much I am your friend ; I’ll furnish you with the money !” 

“ Will you indeed!” exclaimed Abel with an expression 
of grateful feeling beaming in his countenance : “ but that 
I can never allow ; I will never consent to take that from 
you which you value so much.” 

“ Oh, never mind that !” said Woodby; “ you shall have 
the money, and I’ll write to my bankers immediately to 
communicate with yours upon the subject. I’ll take no 
refusal.” 

“ But it must not and shall not be !” said AbeJ, deter- 
mined, as he thought, not to be outdone in generosity. 
“ How can I deprive you of the advantages which you 
have described ! shall I prevent you from eating your cake 
and keeping it to !” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


43 


“ Say no more about it,” said Woodby with vivacity ; 
“ I’ve settled it, so no more.” 

“ I cannot acquiesce in so much goodness,” retorted 
Abel : “ can I forget that you said money in Mexican bonds 
was better secured than in your bankers’ hands'? I am 
determined not to deprive you of such advantages.” 

“You’ll make me angry!” again replied Woodby, who 
was really beginning to be nettled ; “ I’ll have no further 
reply : when I have once determined upon a thing, nothing 
can turn me. Y ou shall be supplied : and as for the ad- 
vantages you talk of, let them be forgotten in the pleasure 
I have of being of service to you.” 

Abel was quite overpowered by what he considered an 
act of gratuitous liberality, and Woodby rose in his esti- 
mation at least a hundred per cent. Unused as he was 
to transactions of this kind, ignorant of their details, and 
accustomed to consider every one as honest as himself, lit- 
tle did he suppose that Woodby *s conduct on this occasion 
was prompted by any motive save that of a pure disin- 
terested desire to be useful. He therefore made his ac- 
knowledgments accordingly, and would have departed at 
once to make known the joyful tidings to his sisters, had 
not Woodby in the fulness of his exultation insisted upon 
his staying to take some luncheon before he resumed his 
walk, to which Abel, not knowing howto resist, consented. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Showing by what small means importance may be appre- 
ciated. 

Great events are frequently produced from trifling 
causes : the intentions of a minister are sometimes disco- 
vered by a single phrase, a secret may be disclosed by a 
a nod, and a man’s character may be divined from one 
single act. It was thus with Mr. Goold Woodby’s lunch- 
eon. From the circumstances attendant upon that meal, 
to which Abel had been invited, the reader may probably 
draw inferences which will save us the trouble of en- 
tering into a long description of the Woodby household, 
and he will learn by deduction that which we shall be 


44 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


happy to be saved the necessity of asserting in broad plain 
terms. 

Belvedere Hall had been fitted up at great expense. It 
contained handsome rooms, with much costly furniture ; 
and wherever the eye turned, the conclusion was self-evi- 
dent that nothing had been spared “ to do the thing hand- 
some,” as is frequently said on such occasions. After Abel 
had finished his conversation with Mr. Woodby, he was 
taken to the dining-room, where the table was spread for 
luncheon, and there he awaited for a short time the arrival 
of the host and hostess. A door which was wide open led 
into an adjoining apartment, evidently the drawing-room, 
and thither Abel walked to while away the time. Every 
thing within was so papered over, covered and pinned up, 
that it was plain, excepting on particular occasions, the 
whole was as sacred as the chambers of the Inquisition. A 
half-open shutter disclosed the riches which it contained, 
and shed its light into an adjacent room, which was in the 
same dishabille. Just as Abel had finished his survey, and 
was retreating from the cheerless apartments, he was met 
by Mrs. Goold Woodby, who was then entering, followed 
by one of her daughters. We are sorry to detain the reader 
by another personal description, but it is absolutely necessary 
in order to give a true colouring to the following sketch. 
The lady in question was one of those persons who, to 
certain tastes, come under the denomination of a “fine wo- 
man.” Her complexion was fair, her eyes light, her hair 
not dark; and although she wore an anxious look, still the 
habit of her face was to smile. She was now about fifty 
years old, but might be called a young-looking woman for 
her age. Her pretensions to beauty she had long given up 
to her daughters ; but since her installation in this fine 
house, and in consequence of her neighbourhood to certain 
persons of consequence with whom she had interchanged 
visits, she had extended the boundaries of her pretensions 
to gentility, and it was a subject worthy of remark, how 
gradual had been her advances, in that most difficult, most 
capricious, and coyest of qualities, since she first emerged 
from the city ; for she was then a creature of a different 
species to what she afterwards proved in the country. She 
there had lived with those whose contempt for the letter h was 
unbounded, whose pronouns were plainly demonstrative, 
and whose designations were generally made after the 
following examples, viz . — “this here man” “ that there 
cow” them there pies” She at that time used frequent- 
ly to be herself found tripping; but now the gramma- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


45 


tical construction of her sentences, by a certain caution 
which she imposed upon herself, had assumed a more re- 
fined form. So anxious was she to be thought well-bred, 
that, as those who prove too much prove nothing, she was apt 
to overstrain her efforts. She never asked any one ‘ to eat,’ 
but ‘ to partake nobody ‘ lived’ in a place, they always 
{ resided :* if she described a woman’s dress, she was not 
* dressed,’ but * attired.’ Thus, from downright coarseness, 
she had glided into a sort of bland vulgarity ; and we must 
leave our narrative to help her through her dilemmas with- 
out further preliminary, — not without a hint that, like all 
persons in her position in life, she laid a great stress upon 
the redeeming properties of riches, and thought she might 
occasionally have a right to clip the king’s English, provi- 
ded she did not curtail his gold. 

The AUnutts in her estimation were what she called very 
genteel, on account of that circumstance which she ever bore 
uppermost in her mind — their being related to a nobleman; 
but as they were poor, she allowed herself great latitude in 
their company, and permitted Cheapside to float more upon 
the surface than when she was under the high pressure of 
genteel restraint. As for Abel, she looked upon him as so 
entirely insignificant, that his presence scarcely put her out 
of her way. On this occasion, when she met him in her 
dining-room, observing that he had been in “ her suite,” as 
she called her drawing-rooms, she said, “ Those are clever 
rooms, an’t they Mr. Allnutt 1 We are going to unpaper 
soon, because we are to have company. Y ou see we never 
sit there unless we have company, because it would be a 
pity to be spoiling of handsome furniture, which nobody 
sees but ourselves. The silk of those curtains cost fifteen 
shillings a yard ; the carpets are real Kidderminster ; and 
as for the tables, all real rosewood, they were knocked 
down to Mr. Goold Woodby at the auction for more than 
any body else would give, although he was bidding against 
Lord Thorofield. — I think you have seen them unpapered 1” 

“ Yes,” said Abel ; “ I remember to have seen them 
when you had the goodness to invite us to your ball last 
year.” 

“ So you did,” said Mrs. Woodby. “Ah, you recollect 
that ball, do you 1 We are going to have our house full 
now : there will be Lord Demone and Lady Thomson, and 
several others.” 

“ Won’t Edward Manby be here!” inquired her daugh- 
ter with an anxious exclamation, to which the mother paid 
po heed, but continued. 


46 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ My girls want me to give another ball this year, but I 
won’t, — I tell you what, though — which I’ll tell you as a 
secret — we are thinking of giving a fancy bazaar next 
spring or summer, and then the girls may dance — a thing 
all for charity’s sake.” 

“ That will be nice !” exclaimed Miss Woodby, who till 
now had taken no notice of Abel : “ that’s a dear good 
mamma 1” 

Miss Woodby was a handsome person, of bloom unri- 
valled, of well-poised stature, and whose head was so over- 
loaded with fair golden hair, that not all the props of combs 
and -velvet ligatures could keep it in order. She had 6retty 
features, but no countenance: health spoke through her 
brilliant skin and vermilion lips, but she was Hebe without 
softness; — a Hebe who, if the gods had been addicted to 
malt liquors, would have been better fitted to pour out beer 
than nectar. Miss Woodby was reckoned one of the beau- 
ties of that part of the country, although her sister Ellen, 
who certainly had not a quarter of her brilliancy, had more 
admirers. We must leave their perfections to the gradual 
development of our narrative, and in the mean while must 
proceed with our luncheon. 

Great indeed was the falling off from the awe inspired 
by the massive lodges, the double shields, the castellated 
mansion, and the general exterior of grandeur, to the chill 
produced by the fragments of food arrayed on the board 
which called itself luncheon. On a large white earthen- 
ware dish edged with green paint was displayed the el- 
derly remains of a cold leg of pork, which evidently had so 
frequently appeared on the same service, that there was 
nothing more left thereof than about two inches of impor- 
tunate gristle which clung with pertinacity to the well- 
scraped bone. A stale half-eaten apple-tart, in a very re- 
mote corner of which about a spoonful of apple had taken 
refuge, was made to face the pork; whilst under an indent- 
ed block-tin cover, brought in with great state, a small half- 
dozen of smoking potatoes were discovered, by way of 
christening the whole with the cheering epithet of a hot 
meal. 

At this juncture entered Mr. Woodby, rubbing his hands, 
looking hungry, and sparkling with exultation at the re- 
sult of his morning’s interview with Abel. “ My dear,” 
said he addressing his wife, “ we must not starve our guest 
after his walk ; we must have something more.’' 

AH the answer he got was a knitting of the brow from 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


47 


his wife, accompanied by a significant shake of the head, 
as if to say, “ This will do very well for him.” 

Woodby appeared not to take the hint, but continued — 
“ Let us broil the bone at least. Allnutt, you are fond of a 
broiled bone, an’t you 1” 

Abel said he was but a small eater at best, and there- 
fore hoped that nothing more might be provided on his ac- 
count. 

Mrs. Woodby’s face cheered up at these words ; but her 
husband calling for wine, it resumed all its look of mo- 
roseness. She curled her features into every contortion 
which might mean no, but without effect — he insisted upon 
having wine until she was fairly obliged to seek the keys, 
of which she was ever the faithful depositary, and then, in 
her rage, fairly left the room, wondering and storming 
within herself what could possess Mr. Woodby to call for 
wine when there was nobody there but Abel. 

In the mean while Miss Woodby thought it right to 
speak to Abel, of whom she made all the necessary in- 
quiries concerning his sisters, heard with delight of Miss 
Mary Allnutt’s arrival, (of whose beauty, let it be said, she 
was of course jealous,) and then launched out on the sub- 
ject which much filled the minds of herself and the neigh- 
bourhood — the anticipated fancy bazaar in the spring, with 
the money of which it was intended to build a new school- 
house. Aunt Fanny was her particular friend among the 
Allnuts, and she was in the habit of making her a sort of 
confidant,— a recipient for all her likes and dislikes — for all 
those retreats and advances, those conceptions and mis- 
conceptions, which are so apt to form the furniture of a 
| young lady's mind when it has not been tutored and kept 
in order by sagacious parents. Aunt Fanny, who was 
j still happy to be thought a bird of the same feather as this 
f, blooming girl, was nothing loth to lend her ear to whatever 
j might be poured therein ; and thus was established that 
| sort of thing between them called, in young ladies’ lan- 
j guage, ‘friendship.’ 

“ I hope your sister Fanny,” said Miss Woodby, u is 
j hard at work for us. X!an you tell me what she has settled 
i to work upon that rug that she has in hand — a cow or a 
Turk! — Tell her again, from me, that I am all for the 
; cow : — I hate those nasty Turks with their long beards — 
fa !” 

“ I really don’t know,” said Abel ; “ she is always hard 
at work.” 


48 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


« You must set your niece at work for us too,” continued 
his fair companion. 

“ What can she do 1” Is she clever 1 I hear she is very 
clever. Can she make screens 1 Can she make figures 
that dress and undress 1” 

“What are you saying there, Anne]” exclaimed her 
father, as he caught her last words, through the vigour of 
his mastications : “ what can you mean 1” 

“ La ! papa,” answered his daughter, I’m talking to 
Mr. Allnutt about our bazaar : I said nothing improper, 
did I, Mr. Allnutt I Do you think Miss Mary could make 
us a pair of such figures — one a man, the other a woman 1 
You can’t think how well they would sell ; and nothing 
of the like has been seen in this part of the country, yet.” 

“I am not yet acquainted with the extent of my niece’s 
accomplishments,” said Abel. “ I think I am certain that 
she draws flowers very prettily ; but,” added he, innocent- 
ly “ I am not prepared to say whether she can make the 
sort of figures you allude to.” 

“Do let her try,” said Miss Woodby: “I am sure she 
must know something new, since she’s just arrived fresh 
from town ; for country folks are in general so ignorant.” 

“ I’ll mention the subject to her with the greatest plea- 
sure,” said Abel, “ and also will deliver your message to my 
sister Fanny and he made a motion to depart, when, at 
the same moment, the servant came in with the key, and, 
with all the proper etiquettes due to the mysterious con- 
tents of a well-administered cellaret, brought out two de- 
canters, one containing about an inch of port, and the other 
three inches of sherry. 

“Take a glass of wine before you go,” said Woodby to 
his guest, “ and let us drink success to Mexico.” 

“I never drink wine,” said Abel ; “ but I’ll wish every 
success to Mexico notwithstanding.” 

During the time that Woodby took to make his libation, 
his daughter exhibited a second display of her charitable 
zeal, by saying, “ But you, Mr. Allnutt — you can do some- 
thing for us, can’t you 1” 

. “ I fear I am really worth nothing to any body,” said 
Abel, with great humility. “ Only tell me what I can do, 
and I will do it to the best of my ability. But, alas ! I have 
always thought that I was one of those creatures who are 
only born * to look about them and to die.’ ” 

“ Could not you write a book for us, or any such thing V 9 
said Anne. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


49 


u A book opens a large field, to be sure,” said Abel, 
smiling and shaking his head at the same time. “ What 
sort of book 

“Oh,” said Miss Woodby, *‘any thing. Telemachus, 
Johnson’s Dictionary, or Tom Jones — any thing will do.” 

“That would be any thing, indeed,” exclaimed Abel, 
with great good humour — when Woodby, having finished 
his meal, arose, and as Abel wished his fair daughter good 
morning, they left the room together, and shortly after the 
house. 

Woodby was anxious to say a few parting words to 
Abel upon the business which they had previously settled, 
in order to instruct him upon the mode of getting the pro- 
per power of attorney made out, and also upon the nature 
of the letter he was to write in forwarding that document 
4 to his bankers in London. He therefore walked with him 
as far as his new lodges, and on the road made the neces- 
sary communications. When they had got there, the conse- 
quential man, all at once, lost sight of the broker, and, as if sud- 
denly exalted by the sight of his shields, like one who feels 
proud at being allow T ed*to stand in the same room with a 
king, he made a full stop — and, whilst he threw his arms 
crossed over his breast, he tossed his head up, and said : 
“ Ah, I think that will do very well. Je voudrai si je coil- 
drai : just the thing — beats Lord Thorofield hollow ! Stone 
has done the thing well ! Ah, aurum quam bonum ! Capi- 
tal ! This is handsome, Allnutt, is it notl” 

“ Very handsome,” said Allnutt, in a hurried manner, 
and added : “ I’ll now wish you good-by’e.” 

“ Good-b’ye ,” said Woodby. “ You must all come and 
dine with us soon, do you hear! We will let you know. 
We shall have Lord Demone, and Lady Thomson, and 
some more. You’ll be sure to come, and then I will show 
you the original Goold coat of arms.” 

«G ood-b’ye,” said Abel ; and fearful of more explana- 
tions, he squeezed his hand and fled. 

“Your servant,” said Woodby, 


Vol. I.— 5 


so 


ABEL ALLNtJTT** 


CHAPTER VII. 


How ignorant some people may be of what everybody is sup * 
posed to know ! 


Abel bent his steps homewards, his thoughts full of the 
events of the morning. The fears which he had enter- 
tained that this attempt to increase their fortune would 
prove disastrous had entirely vanished ; for Woodby’s con- 
versation had so confirmed his brother’s views, that he 
could no longer feel any apprehensions as to the result of 
the transfer about to be made. His heart was full of gra- 
titude towards Woodby for the readiness with which he had 
espoused the interests of himself and his sisters, and more 
particularly for the great sacrifice which he was convinced 
he had made of his own advantage in order to secure theirs. 
He was ever apt to look upon the bright side of things, 
and ready to approve of, and like, every person with whom 
he came into contact : he therefore glanced with lenity at 
the instances of meanness and vanity which he had re- 
marked during his visit, and would not allow himself to 
criticise with asperity what, in the estimation of others 
more versed in the ways of the world, would have been 
ridiculed and condemned without compunction. 

When he met his sisters at dinner, his first words were 
to extol the kindness and attentions of the Woodbys; and 
having done so, he related in the fullest detail the success 
which had attended his mission. 


“Did not I tell you that you would succeed V’ said Aunt 
Barbara, taking the whole merit of it to herself. “ He was 
sure to talk about the French Revolution, and then you 
clinched him : was it not so 1 I’m sure I’m right.” 

“ It was exactly so,” said Abel : “ he seemed quite ready 
to meet my wishes, and espoused our interests exactly as 
if they were his own.” 

“I always said Mr. Woodby was a good man,” said 
Barbara, “ whatever people might say about his pride, and 
his love of grandeur and old families.” 

“I believe he is as good a creature as ever lived,” said ■ 
Fanny. 

“What a dear man he must be,” said the gentle Mary 
with great vivacity, “for being so kind to you, uncle 


“ And what did Mrs - Woodby say 1” inquired Aunt Bab; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 51 

• did you talk to her about our scheme? I fear she will 
grudge us our good fortune.” 

“No, I did not,” said Abel ; “ I only saw her at lunch- 
eon. She talked to me principally about the company she 
was shortly to have in her house, and about unpapering 
her rooms.” 

“ Who is she to have ?” said Aunt Fanny : “ did she 
mention any names ?” 

“ I think she said — indeed I am certain she mentioned 

Lady Thomson and Lord De — Do Lord Somebody, 

1 think she said, and others.” 

“ Who can he be ?” said Fanny. “ Let us see. — Oh, I 
know ! — it must be Lord Demone ; he is an Irishman — the 
Woodbys do nothing but rave about him. Anne Wood- 
by told me that her parents wished her to marry him; but, 
la ! he’s old enough to be her father.” 

“ And who is Lady Thomson ?” said Barbara. 

“What! have you never heard of Lady Thomson ?” 
said Fanny ; “ Mrs. W^oodby’s Lady Thomson I — why, she 
can think and talk of nothing else. She is called a rich 
widow, and is every thing at Cheltenham — they call her 
the Queen of Cheltenham — she can do whatever she pleases 
with the Woodbys. I have never seen her, but I hear that 
she is a prodigious person, wearing such turbans and pos- 
sessing such shawls !” Then turning to Abel, she inquired 
whether Edward Manby was not to be of the party. 

“ I think Miss Woodby said something about him,” said 
Abel ; “ but I did not pay great attention.” 

“ And who is Edward Manby ?” inquired Mary in a 
timid accent. “ I never heard his name mentioned be- 
fore.” 

“Oh, the Woodbys call him a charming young man, 
and so handsome they say !” exclaimed Aunt Fanny 
with enthusiasm. “ Nobody knows who or what he is ; 
but he is somebody’s nephew, that’s certain, and he is pa- 
tronised by Mr. Woodby ; and, what’s more, I hear wears 
the most charming waistcoats you ever saw. He is such 
a favourite !” 

“ He is young Woodby’s friend, I believe,” said Aunt 
Bab. “ He is said to* be a very civil, well-conditioned youth ; 
but, for my part, I am always afraid of your mysterious 
youths — they are always to be suspected.” 

“ Suspected ! — suspected of what !” exclaimed Mary with 
innocent warmth. “ What can he have done ?” 


52 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ It does not matter,” said Aunt Bab ; “ but I know I’m 
right — it stands to reason that I’m right.” 

In this manner did the two aunts, the uncle and the 
niece, pass the evening ; sometimes chatting of their neigh- 
bours, at others of their future prospects, and ever and 
anon wondering what John was doing at that moment. 
'They were about retiring to their beds, when Aunt Bar- 
bara all at once exclaimed, as if she had forgotten some- 
thing of importance, “ But, Abel, you have not told us yet by 
what means we are to get our money transferred from the 
English to the Mexican funds : do tell us before we go to 
bed.” 


“ As to that,” said Abel, “ it must be done through 
Cruikshank the attorney.” 

“Through Cruikshank!”- exclaimed Aunt Fanny in 
amazement. 

“ And how can he do itl” said Aunt Bab. 

“ Through a power of attorney,” said Abel : “ that’s the 
way to get it.” 

“ Cruikshank ! a power of attorney !” again exclaimed 
Fanny as she left the room and went up to her bed. 
“Who would have thought it 1” 

« Well, we shall see,” said Aunt Bab, little understand- 
ing the nature of the transaction. “ I suppose it’s all right. 

John must know best; but ” Then, shaking her 

head, she also went to bed, ruminating in her mind how 
such things were done, and still shaking her head as she 
thought upon Cruikshank. 

Abel gave his blessing to his niece as she tripped up to 
her room, and the cottage was soon after wrapt in the rest 
and quiet of night. 

It has occurred to us, and we doubt whether it will not 
also have occurred to most of our readers, to meet with 
instances of ignorance in the commonest affairs of life 
among men and women — but more particularly among 
women, which might be said to amount to idiotism, were 
it not certain that there is as great a variety in the struc- 
ture of minds as there is in the composition of the fea- 
tures of faces. Aunt Fanny was a striking illustration of 
tins observation, as will be seen by what is immediately 
about to follow ; although when it is taken into considera- 
tion, that living a life of more seclusion than falls to the lot 
of most modern ladies, her ignorance might fairly be ac- 
counted for on that ground alone. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


53 


She, who usually was the latest at breakfast, was on 
the following morning the first to make her appearance. 
Her mind seemed full of some impelling thought which re- 
quired to expend itself by utterance. Therefore, as soon 
as Aunt Barbara appeared, she exclaimed, “Barbara, it 
never will do !” 

“ Do what 1” said Barbara. 

“ Why, Cruikshank — Cruikshank, to be sure,” rejoined 
Fanny. 

“ And what of Cruikshank 1” said Barbara. 

“ Surely you understand,” said Fanny : “ he never will 
do.” 

“ He never will do what]” answered Aunt Bab, looking 
all amazed. 

“You are quite provoking!” said Fanny: “d have been 
thinking of him all night,, and I am sure he never will do, 
— he is such a little man.” 

“ But what is he to do ]” said Barbara, 

“ You heard what Abel said as well as I did,” said 
Fanny : “ he said our money was to be got at by an attor- 
ney of powers and you can’t surely say that little Cruik- 
shank is the man.” 

“ An attorney of power !” exclaimed the astonished Bar- 
bara; “Fanny! what can you mean]” 

“ Why, did not Abel say that an attorney of power was 
to go to London to get at our money, and to do what John 
said was to be done with it, and that Cruikshank was the 
man ] We surely ought to have a man of more power 
than that little fellow. He never will do ; — who would 
give our money to him ] We ought to get some good, 
stout, handsome man, to be sure, to do the business.” 

“You must.be wrong, Fanny,” said Barbara, puzzled. 
“ I don’t think that Abel said an attorney of power — I think 
he said a power of attorney, whatever that may be ; and 
I should suppose that to be a different thing — at least I 
think so, for . does it not stand to reason that they can’t 
mean the same thing !” 

“It must mean the same thing, though,” said Fanny, 
“ for I turned the words over in my mind all the night 
through a thousand times, and I could come to no other 
conclusion than that he meant a fine, handsome, strong 
man — in short an attorney of power.” 

“ It may be so,” said Barbara ; “ but I think I’m right 
when I say that I understood Abel otherwise ; — but here 
he comes.” 


f>* 


54 


ABEL ALtNtTY. 


As soon as Abel entered the room, Fanny was the first 
to cry out, “Now, Abel, did not you say that our money 
was to be got by an attorney of pow.er !” 

« An attorney of power 1” exclaimed Abel, “ what do 
you mean 1” 

“I thought that I was right,” said Aunt Bab ; “I thought 
he said a power of attorney.” 

“ And so I did,” said Abel. 

“ Then pray what has Cruikshank to do with it 1” said 
Fanny. “ I am sure you mentioned his name. 

“ And so I did,” said Abel ; “ he is to make it out.” 

•“ How can he make it out,” rejoined Fanny ; “ such a 
poor, little, miserable thing as he is, how can he make 
any thing out like power.” 

“ My dear Fanny,” said Abel, smiling, “ I am afraid that 
you got out of your bed this morning with your wrong 
leg foremost, for you have strangely misunderstood this 
matter.” 

' “ Indeed !” said Fanny, with some little mortification in 

her tone and manner; “ it is not strange if I have misun- 
, derstood it. You tell us first that Cruikshank is to get our 
money for us ; then that he is to be the power of attorney, 
or the attorney of power, just as you please, but which 
appear to me to mean one and the same thing ; and now 
you say that he is to make it out. Make what out, I should 
like to know!” 

“ Why, the power of attorney, to be sure,” said Abel. 
“ A power of attorney is a piece of paper, and not a man : 
when it is duly written according to the prescribed forms, 
signed, sealed, and delivered, all of which was explained 
to me by Mr. Woodby, it then empowers one person to 
act for another. Cruikshank, being an attorney, is to make 
this out — we shall sign it ; it will then be sent to our bank- 
ers in London, who will thus be empowered to act for us. 
Now do you understand me!” 

“ I said as much,” said Barbara, looking wise and sig- 
nificant. “ Now I understand the whole thing.” 

“Then a power of attorney is a piece of paper, and 
not a strong man,” said Fanny, with a dogged and morti- 
fied look; “well, I thought otherwise.” 

“ If it were a strong, handsome man,” said Abel, with 
the greatest good-humour to his sister, “ then you were 
perfectly right in thinking that poor Cruikshank could be 
no candidate for the office, nor do I much wonder at your 
ignorance. To this day, since the death of our dear fa- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


55 


ther, never have we had the smallest occasion to disturb 
the deposit which he left for our maintenance. I was 
equally ignorant until Mr. Woodby enlightened me on the 
subject. And now the next thing to be done is, that I im- 
mediately proceed to put his directions into practice ; I will 
set Cruikshank to work this very morning. 

• So much having been settled, Abel took his way to the 
village, found the attorney, who, in truth, was a little 
shrivelled old man, who had made the wills of the neigh- 
bourhood for half a century, and esteemed the oracle on 
matters both foreign and domestic by all the simple-heart- 
ed peasantry : soon completed the task to which he had 
been appointed. 

The little community of Ivycote in the mean while had 
received intelligence of John’s arrival at Liverpool, of the 
arrangements which he had made previous to his em- 
barkation, and at length of his departure. His last letter 
was full of promises to write upon every occasion — full of 
sanguine anticipations of success in his own schemes, and 
of hopes for an excellent result in the one which he had 
suggested to their notice. Aunt Bab, who idolized her 
brother, and, notwithstanding his many failures in making 
a fortune, still had the highest idea of his understanding, 
dwelt with admiration on every word he wrote, and, when 
his letters were read aloud, listened with breathless atten- 
tion ; whilst Fanny, equally affectionate, but less awake to 
his schemes, was only animated when he described men 
and manners. The tender Mary would devour every 
thing he wrote with an attention that indicated how deep- 
ly she loved her parent; whilst Abel, without saying much, 
would listen, and, as he listened, would speculate and draw 
his own conclusions upon the subjects that were brought 
before his mind, but never finished without some benevo- 
lent ejaculation, praying for his brother’s health and pros- 
perity. 

The power of attorney was duly made out, and, when 
presented by Cruikshank for signature, he was thanked as 
if he had conferred a great family benefit; when many an 
innocent joke passed, as they surveyed his person, at Aunt 
Fanny’s mistake and aberration of imagination. The 
document was forwarded by the post with due solemnity; 
the hours were counted when the answer and result would 
be received ; and, in the expectation of that event, we will 
for the present close this chapter. 


56 


ABEL ALLNUTT, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The results of shallow education upon frivolous minds . 

Misses Anne and Ellen Goold Woodby. 

In due course of time an answer arrived from the bank- 
ers in London, announcing the completion of the trans- 
action precisely in accordance with the orders which they 
had received, by which the family of Ivycote, fulfilling the 
prognostics made by John Allnutt, were put into pos- 
session of a comfortable increase of income. 

In anticipation of this event, they had frequently dis- 
cussed among themselves the use to which they would ap- 
ply their additional revenue. Barbara insisted upon add- 
ing to their domestic comforts — buying some necessary 
articles of furniture, renewing others, and, above all, en- 
larging the measure of their hospitality. Abel bad no am- 
bition beyond that of extending their charity and making 
themselves useful to the poor ; whilst Fanny insisted, as a 
preliminary to further schemes, that honest Brown’s hat 
should be ornamented with a gold-lace band, and, more- 
over, that two gold-laced button-holes should be added to 
the collar of his livery-coat. We mention these circum- 
stances, as they will tend to illustrate the characters of the 
three individuals here mentioned ; and we do not include 
their niece, the retiring and unpretending Mary, because, 
at this period of our story, she was too young and too 
little of a personage to be supposed to have any opinion 
of her own. She naturally acquiesced in every thing that 
was proposed — obedience and docility were the habits of 
her mind ; no cloud was ever seen to cross her brow, and 
she seemed only to exist in the love and approbation of 
those who surrounded her. 

They had been some time seated in council, discussing 
the various subjects of interest in the family brought on 
by their increase of fortune, when the wheels of a car- 
riage were heard approaching the door, and soon Miss 
Woodby and her sister Ellen made their appearance. 
After the first greetings, Miss Woodby announced that she 
had been sent by her papa and mamma to invite the whole 
party to dinner at a future day, which she named; and, as, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 



an incentive, added, that they would meet Lady Thomson. 
In her estimation it was sufficient to mention “Lady 
Thomson,” and all was said. At Belvedere Hall this per- 
sonage was looked upon as the beginning and the end of 
all gentility; and Miss Woodby expected that her name 
would produce the same effect at Ivycote. She hoped to 
have seen them all jump with delight at the invitation, but 
was mortified to find that it was received in solemn silence; 
for as such an event at Ivycote was rare, its first effect 
was to produce a pause, and then a deliberation. Abel 
and Fanny looked to Barbara for a decision, who, after a 
due quantity of acknowledgments for the honour and the 
kindness, and so forth, finding that she was properly se- 
conded, accepted it. 

Miss Woodby, upon hearing this, expressed herself very 
much pleased, and said she was sure that they would be 
delighted to know Lady Thomson, because nothing could 
be kinder than she was — and then she was a knight’s 
widow, and so very genteel ! She added, that she saw 
the best company at Cheltenham, and *a good deal of it; 
and then whispered to her friend Fanny, “Would you be- 
lieve it, she is so very high bred, that she thinks nothing is 
half good enough for her ; and, moreover, never will sit 
in the same room with a tallow-candle !” 

Finding that the visiters were likely to make a long stay, 
Aunt Barbara left them to busy herself in household af- 
fairs ; Abel returned to his room, thus leaving Fanny to en- 
tertain her young friends ; whilst Mary lingered on to im- 
prove an acquaintance with Ellen, who was about her 
own age. 

As soon as Anne Woodby found herself released from 
the severer presence of Aunt Barbara and the grave looks 
of Abel, she was carried off at once by her usual high 
spirits, and relieved herself by a burst of volubility. 

“ Will there be no one else at Belvedere besides Lady 
Thomson ?” inquired Fanny. 

“Oh dear, yes,” said Anne, “she usually brings seve- 
ral men with her. You have heard of Lord Demone — I 
told you all about him before ; — well he is one — is it not 
horrible! You see Lady Thomson is so very genteel that 
she must have a lord with her ; and she is so very fond of 
me, and is so anxious that I should be genteel too, that 
she is positively wild to marry me to this man. Now, 
isn’t it horrible? he is old enough to be my father, they 
say ; and then he is so ugly, and dresses so much like a 


58 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


scru b— there ?s no bearing it— I’m sure I won’t for one. 
Lady Thomson says that I am too fastidious; but I’m sure 
I’m right in being fastidious— Pa always told me that I 
ought to be fastidious, for that I’m to have a large fortune 
when I marry, and I’m sure it is quite right to be fastidious. 
Now don't you think, Fanny, I should be quite wrong not 
to be fastidious 1” she said to her friend with a most be- 
seeching look. 

Aunt Fanny was about tb answer this appeal to her 
feelings and judgment, when, without waiting the result, 
Miss Woodby continueclto disburthen her heart. — “ Oh, I 
wish you had been with us at Cheltenham this summer, 
you would have had such fun. We were always along 
with Lady Thomson ; and, as she was the head of the so- 
ciety there, we did whatever we liked. You ought to 
have seen how we were followed about — I am sure I was 
called very proud. I made it a rule always to turn my 
back upon every man who was not regularly introduced ; 
you can’t think how I frumped them.” 

Upon hearing “this, Mary, Whose ear had caught this 
declaration, looked quite astonished, and even distressed. 

“ Well,” continued Anne, “and we never, at home or 
abroad, walked, rode, sat, or lounged, without being sur- 
rounded by officers : there were some such nice ones — 
one such a love !” (Here M ary blushed.) — “ Oh ! you ought 
to have seen how we went on ; but I was so very proud. 
Only think, one night at a ball at the rooms, which was ’ 
given under the patronage of Lady Thompson, I had such 
an adventure. We all followed Lady Thomson, and en- 
tered the rooms, quite a crowd of us, — quite a galaxy, as 
the papers said. The master of the ceremonies came up 
and asked to introduce Mr. Dolittle to me, son of Messrs. 
Dolittle, the bankers of Cheltenham ; before I could say yea 
or nay, there was my man close at hand, and he was in- 
troduced. I had no choice left ; and, just as he was coming 
up, the master of the ceremonies had time to whisper be- 
hind his hand into my ear, that he drove a phaeton and 
kept his own hounds : so he asked me to dance, and I said 
yes, quite thoughtlessly. Well, when it was time to stand 
up, who should come up and insist upon my dancing with 
him, but Captain S waggle, in full uniform. You know I 
could not resist this; and when Mr. Dolittle came to claim 
my hand, you ought to have seen what a fuss there was. 

I believe they would have fought on the spot, only the 
master of the ceremonies interfered ; but Lady Thompson 


AfcEL aLLNUTT, 


59 


Was very angry with me, because she is so very high bred 
she can*t think of transgressing the rules of the Chelten- 
ham ball-room.” 

“Well, and what happened after that'!” inquired Aunt 
Fanny, whilst Mary looked all aghast with apprehension. 

“Oh!” said Miss Woodby, “I was obliged to make Mr. 
Dolittle an apology, — only think of that ; and then, by way 
of making it up, I was obliged” to dance with him ; but 
then he became so very familiar, it was quite shocking, 
for — would you believe it? — he was impertinent enough 
to snatch a rose from my hand, for we all carried bouquets, 
and then he stuck it in his button-hole ; but I was up to 
him, for, when he was looking another way, I snatched it 
from him in my turn, and strew T ed it in a thousand bits 
on the floor. Y ou ought to have seen how he looked. 
He was quite mortified, and then said, ‘Oh! Miss Wood- 
by, you are a dear little’ such a word he said ! — ‘ a 

dear little devil:’ now wasn’t that shocking'? But I served 
him quite right, didn’t II I know I am too fastidious per- 
haps ; but such a man as Mr. Dolittle has no business to 
put himself so forward, has he? 

Miss Woodby delivered herself of the above effusion 
with a volubility and an energy that can only be compared 
to the impetus of a train of fireworks ; her frequent stops to 
make an interrogation acting like the pause which takes 
place at the extinction of one wheel, before, the ignition of 
a second. 

Aunt Fanny, who in her day had figured at country 
balls,' had danced with captains, and had gone through the 
probation of having flowers snatched from her, and who 
still hoped, that she was not utterly rejected by man, was 
pleased to have her recollections revived by the conversa- 
tion of her young friend; but Mary, who to this time had 
been brought up by those who were jealous even to a 
fault of the purity of her mind, and who was as ignorant 
as an infant of the ways of the world, — was entirely con- 
founded by what she heard from Miss Woodby. She at 
first attempted to engage Ellen Woodby’s attention by 
talking to her upon the various subjects of work, books, 
drawing, flowers, and dress ; but, finding her wholly ab- 
sorbed in what her sister was saying, she was obliged to 
direct her attention there also ; and as the various topics 
of Cheltenham, Lady Thomson’s supremacy, her own fas- 
tidiousness, Mr. Dolittle’s forwardness, and Captain Swag- 
gle’s charms were discussed, she evinced astonishment, 


60 


ABEL ALLNUTf. 


some slight amusement tinctured with some share of dis- 
gust, and looked upon her new acquaintances as creatures 
of a new genus. And here, as a French preacher once 
said, who had ventured to address an English congrega- 
tion in their own tongue, * Having finished our three pints, 
we will draw a little more-ale ’ — here we may remark of 
what consequence it is, in order to preserve the purity of 
youthful minds, that they should never be permitted to 
hear any conversation of the nature which we have here 
recorded, before their minds are so well prepared by prin- 
ciple, that they would be able at once to recognise wrong 
and right upon their own perceptions. Let us ask what 
can be more enervating to the mind, — what more de- 
structive of purity of thought and single-mindedness — 
than those frequent allusions to lax and unrestrained con- 
duct, implied in Miss Woodby’s words, between young 
people of different sexes'? Mary had been brought up in 
the abhorrence of every thing bearing the remotest affinity 
to levity, and in the love of every thing that encouraged 
virtue, and, new as Miss Woodby’s effusions were to her 
ears, she instinctively settled in her own mind that she 
could not have enjoyed the same advantages of education 
as herself, and therefore charitably made allowances for 
her misfortune. But had any other young person, whose 
mind left unprotected by principle, and open to the intrusion 
of frivolity, — had she been in Mary’s place, what might have 
been the consequence 1 Most probably she would have be- 
come dissatisfied with the tameness and seclusion of her life, 
she would have longed for Cheltenham and Lady Thomson, 
she would have burned with impatience to make herself 
dear to Swaggle, and been ardent with zeal to annihilate 
Dolittle. She would have dreamt of officers in full uni- 
form, of snatching and demolishing roses, of the obsequi- 
ousness of masters of ceremonies, of bankers driving 
phaetons, and of old lords driven to despair. 

Aunt Fanny, finding that her friend Anne Woodby’s 
effusions had only yet half commenced, and that in propor- 
tion as her patience to hear became manifest, so the desire 
of the other to communicate increased, prudently withdrew 
into a further corner of the room, for she had sense enough 
to perceive that the conversation which had hitherto taken 
place was not adapted to Mary’s taste, and thus she left 
her and Ellen Woodby together. 

Mary therefore made another attempt to draw Ellen into 
conversation, who, on her part, having hitherto been kept 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


6i 


sjlent by the interest which her sister’s communications 
had created, was nothing loth. Ellen who, according to 
the received phrase, was not yet out, from not yet having 
quite opened in the book of life the chapter which explained 
its realities, was absorbed in sentiment, and (hved in the 
indulgence of that species of poetry, peculiar to the ima- 
gination of young ladies, which is so apt to turn young 
men into Edwins and themselves into Emmas. There 
was a sentimental cast in her countenance and manner : 
her hair was parted flat over her brow, she sued paleness 
as the first of blessings, and she had not yet made up her 
mind whether she should look like a madonna, a nun at 
her vigils, or the impassioned Eloisa. 

She very soon began to talk to Mary, and the subject 
which was nearest her heart very soon came to the sur- 
face on her lips. “ Do you know Edward Manby 1” she 
said with a deep sigh, and with her eyelashes slightly quiv- 
ering over her pretty eyes. 

“No,” said Mary, “ I have not that pleasure.’* 

“ Ah, you may well call it pleasure,” said Ellen : “ I do. 
Anne may talk of her Captain Swaggle ; but I should like 
you to compare him to Edward Manby. The one wears 
his beautiful uniform, ’tis true, and moustaches ; but the 
other, for all he will persist in dressing like any common 
person, without either tuft or moustaches, is so very hand- 
some, that he beats Captain Swaggle all to atoms. He 
has beautiful auburn ham curling naturally to begin with : 
and then such eyes ! you never saw the like, they positively 
pierce you through and through : his nose is a little aquiline 
— Anne says it has a turn too much ; but I say it is perfect. 
She says too that S waggle’s teeth beat Edward’s out and 
out ; but there she is wrong again, for his are like pearls, 
and show so pretty whenever he opens his mouth, whereas 
Swaggle’s lips are always shut so tight that he might have 
charcoal for teeth and no one would be the wiser for it. 
Then he has such a brow, he looks like a colonel of dra- 
goons at least — some say he looks quite as commanding 
as Bonaparte, some like the royal family ; but this I will say, 
that nobody can see him without loving him. I always 
feel a sort of involuntary tremor when he stands near me ; 
and when he speaks, his voice thrills through and through 
me, it is so very heart-rending. Now isn’t he nice V ’ 

“I dare say he is,” said Mary, not knowing exactly 
what to say ; and, not willing to extend the subject, she 
endeavoured to turn it off by remarking, “ Lady Thomson, 
Vol. i. — 6 


62 


ABEL ALLNtfTT. 


too, appears to be very kind and amiable, from all youf 
sister says of her.” 

“ Anne is her favourite, and she has a right to praise 
her,” said Ellen ; “ but I cannot like her, she does all she 
can to keep Edward Manby out of our house, because 
she is afraid Anne will fall in love with him, and then she 
would not marry that old lord she is always carrying 
about with her ; but I can tell her Edward is not the man 
she takes him to be. Although he is poor — and why 
should he not 1 — yet he is above pitiful pelf ; he is humble 
and unknown, yet he has all the pride of a Marquis. I 
should not be at all surprised if he were a prince in dis- 
guise, although they say that he is only the son of a poor 
officer and the nephew of a brewer. You know that does 
not signify, does it V’ 

She made this inquiry with such real interest, as if her 
whole happiness depended upon it, that Mary could not 
refrain from catching some of her earnestness, and said, 

“No, certainly ; a brewer’s nephew, provided he be 
good, is just as much entitled to one’s esteem as any other 
man’s nephew.” 

“Well, that is so good of you!” said Ellen, squeezing 
her hand ; “ that is what I always say, although I have all 
the family against me. I have inquired a great deal about 
brewers, and from all I hear they are excellent men, and, 
what’s more, members of parliament. Besides, brewers’ 
nephews may wear tufts and moustaches, and chains, and 
smart sticks and waistcoats, as well as other men ; now 
mayn’t they 1” 

“I see no good reason against it,” said Maiy, quite star- 
tled at the question.” 

“ That is so very good of you !” repeated Ellen, as if 
Mary had done her a particular favour. « I think I might in 
time persuade Edward Manby to wear them, for he is so 
very good natured you can’t think ; he does every thing 
to please every body, and then, although he has so little 
money allowed him he is always buying us things, and 
gives all he has to any poor creature that asks him. If 
you ever see him, don’t like him too much, Mary,” said 
Ellen, with a sort of playful emotion, showing how deeply 
her affections were already engaged. “ I shall be jealous 
of you, do you know, if you do.” 

“ There is no fear of that,” said Mary with a good-na- 
tured smile. 

“I am afraid that there is though,” said Ellen, “for every 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


63 


body is sure to love him who knows him ; there is one 
comfort, he is not to be at Belvidere this time, owing to 
that odious Lady Thomson, and so you can’t love him 
yet.” 

And so terminated the t£te-cL-t£te; for Miss Woodby, 
having fairly exhausted herself in her communications to 
Aunt Fanny, hastily took her leave, declaring that she 
should be too late to “ take a ride” in the open carriage 
with her mamma ; and hinted that they were to have their 
four horses out for the first time, with the new Goold 
Woodby liveries, in order to try how they would look be- 
fore Lady Thomson came. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Country Simplicity . — ‘ Where ignorance is bliss? $c. 

The family of Ivycote had not quitted their quiet and 
unpretending habitation for many a long day upon an ex- 
pedition such as the one now set on foot by Miss Wood- 
by’ s visit, and therefore it became an event in which the 
exertion of more than ordinary energies was requisite. 
Occasionally one or two individuals at a time might dine 
with the parish clergyman, or visit the farmer Flambo- 
rough of the neighbourhood, or even the great squire, such 
as Mr. Woodby might be; but to dine out en masse in this 
manner was unheard-of Since the death of their father 
and the ruin of their elder . brother, they had wisely kept 
the incognito as much as possible, and refrained from the 
smallest approach to display : but since the turn which their 
fortune had taken, and with the desire of giving Mary a 
chance of settling in the world, they felt it right to relax. 
Accordingly, the first step which the ladies of the family 
took, was to make a survey of their respective wardrobes. 
Aunt Barbara could not boast of many gowns ; she had 
her every-day cotton and her Sunday tabinet — the one 
having frequently shivered in the breeze at the great family 
washes, and the other slumbered on a peg behind the door 
only to be called into action every seventh day. She 
therefore was perplexed what to do, particularly when she 
reflected before whom she was about to appear; and at 


64 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


length, after as many pros and cons as a chancellor of ex- 
chequer might make ere he settled the imposition of a new 
tax, she determined upon the strong measure of creating 
an entirely new gown, and that, mirabile dictu, let it be 
properly announced, of silk. As for Aunt Fanny, she was 
much better provided ; for, by that extraordinary ingenuity 
which some women possess over others, she managed al- 
most daily to exhibit herself in a different attire. At one 
time a gown which was in the last stage of decrepitude 
would all at once come out with renewed youth, bristling 
with ribands and swelling with mysterious bulbs: but on 
this occasion she was at a nonplus, and as her heart also 
yearned for something new, she likewise determined to ex- 
hibit her taste and fancy in a new dress, whilst it was de- 
cided that Maiy was to look cheap and lovely in white 
muslin. An expedition to the nearest market-town was 
consequently planned and forthwith executed ; whilst Abel, 
contented with his long-tried and apparently everlasting 
black trousers and silk stockings, was happy to devote the 
hour of their absence to his much-beloved flute. 

The three ladies returned with their pony-carriage laden 
with the purchases which they had made, the sage Barbara 
depending upon the solvency of the New World for the 
payment of this extra expense. Package after package 
was handed out, to the astonishment of old Betty, who 
had never seen such doings since the days of the family 
grandeur, and did not cease uttering her ‘ Well-a-day !’ and 
‘ I never seed the like !’ until every thing was safely landed 
in the hall. But these ejaculations were nothing to those 
which followed when the contents of the packages were 
displayed before her. Barbara first dazzled her eyes by a 
gray silk ; but when Fanny opened the mysteries of her 
purchase, which after much uncertainty of purpose she had 
settled should be a cherry-coloured silk, the enraptured old 
woman almost fainted with delight. 

Then succeeded the difficulties of ‘ making up,' to use 
the mantua-maker’s jargon. It was so long since a new 
gown had been manufactured in the family, and those that 
existed being of obsolete fashion, it required that some ex- 
pedient should immediately be devised to secure a specimen 
of the last mode. In the adjoining village there were no 
mantua-makers, therefore in their dilemma they determined 
to send to the Miss Woodbys to beg the loan of one of 
their gowns, which they supposed would be of undoubted 
authority. This was soon obligingly supplied, accompanied 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


65 


by a note from Miss Woodby, who said, from Lady Thom- 
son’s authority, “that tuckers were positively descending 
and skirts ascending, and that therefore allowances should 
be made in the cutting out.” 

As soon as the garment was exhibited, great was the 
astonishment it created. Upon being held up to view, after 
much scrutiny Aunt Bab exclaimed: “But there must be 
something wanting yet. Surely this can’t be all the gown 
— it stands to reason, that something more is wanting at 
the top ; why, it would not cover my shoulders !” They 
all agreed in this remark; and then, by way of ascertain- 
ing the fact beyond a doubt, they pitched upon the smiling 
Mary as their manikin, and requested her forthwith to strip 
and put on Miss Wood by' s dress. This she did, accom- 
panied by all the retiring and bewitching modesty of her 
nature ; and when she found herself deprived of the cover- 
ing to which she had been accustomed, she felt even in the 
presence of her aunts as if the finger of insult and mockery 
was pointed at her. We wish that those who daily go 
into crowds openly and unblushingly with their persons 
presented to the gaze of whoever chooses to look upon 
them, could have seen this beautiful maiden as she stood 
thus exposed, expressing in her abashed looks the true 
feelings of modesty which nature has implanted in woman 
both for her protection and to increase her attractions : 
they would have received a lesson which would have 
taught them how reprehensible is the prevailing fashion of 
their dress. Let them be assured, that if it be intended to 
secure the attention of man, the object fails, for what is 
common is no longer observed ; and that, be he libertine 
or otherwise, far from admiring, he is the first to deride 
and contemn. 

“ And so tuckers are descending !” said Aunt Bab, as she 
turned poor Mary round and round, looking at her with 
horror and astonishment, her eyes being particularly at- 
tracted by that portion of the gown which was drawn like 
a horizontal line across her beautiful bust. — “ Why, the wo- 
man must be run mad to say so ! How much lower would 
she have them go 1— What shall I do 1” 

Fanny whose heart in truth went as much with fashion 
as Whig or Tory goes with his party, although she could 
not retrain from siding with her sister in condemning 
what she saw before her, endeavoured to come to a com- 
promise by saying, “You know we can trim as high as 
we like,” 


6 * 


66 


ABEL ALLNUTf. 


‘‘ Trim !** cried Bab, her anger increasing with reflection 

« trim to be sure ! — what can Lady Thomson mean'? — 

trim indeed we will with a vengeance ! — Why, if we were 
all to start from home in gowns like this— the very dogs 
of the village would howl with astonishment — it stands to 
reason that they would. Besides, she says we must shorten 
our skirts — Why, if we lower our tuckers and shorten our 
skirts, what becomes of the gown we may as well leave it 
off altogether. The woman must be mad — ft stands to 
reason !” 

Fanny attempted to soften her sister’s wrath, by remind- 
ing her of the power of fashion, and how difficult it was 
to set one’s face against it ; but her words were of no 
avail, for Bab avowed that if no one would set their face 
against it, she for one would, and she would let them 
know what it was to dress With becoming modesty and 
decorum. 

The gowns were soon cut out, and the whole of the female 
household being employed in stitching and putting them 
together,— for they worked as if it were a family concern 
of the first moment, — the whole were ready to put on even 
twenty-four hours before the eventful day of the dinner. 

On that morning the plan of operations for the evening 
was settled by Aunt Barbara herself, aided by the counte- 
nance of Abel. It was arranged that he, putting his dress- 
shoes in his pocket, should walk to Belvideer Hall, and be 
ready to meet them at the door in order that they might 
all enter the drawing-room together ; whilst the women 
should proceed m the pony-chaise, driven by honest Brown 
in his new livery, which was to be exhibited for the first 
time on the occasion. 

Just as this had been settled, a note arrived from Miss 
Woodby to Aunt Fanny, which stated, “that Lady Thom- 
son being very fond of music, her mother begged it as a 
particular favour that Miss Mary AUnutt would bring her mu- 
sic-book with her, in order that she might favour them with 
a song after dinner.” 

When Mary heard this, she almost sank into the ground 
with apprehension; for although she had learned music 
and was as good a performer upon the pianoforte as most 
young ladies, and although she had a sweet voice and sang 
little unpretending songs and ballads when she was alone, 
yet she had never exhibited herself to more than her father, 
her unde, and aunts in her life ; and therefore to sing be- 
fore Lady Thomson, the head of the society at Cheltenham, 
and a ‘lord,’ and all the Woodbys, and she could not say 


ABEL ALLNtfTT. 


67 


Who besides, appeared to her an undertaking so appalling 
in its circumstances, and in her so presumptuous, that al- 
though she was ever ready to attend to every one’s wish- 
es, yet on this occasion she entreated and begged that she 
might be excused. Aunt Bab and Uncle Abel were both 
well inclined to accede to her wishes; but Aunt Fanny, 
who had a secret hope that she herself might be called 
upon to raise her voice for the amusement of the company, 
— for she in her day had had a voice, and had sung and 
heard ‘ brava !’ and ‘ excellent whispered into her ear, — 
insisted upon Mary’s acceding to Miss Woodby’s request, 
and, by way of encouragement, said that she would ac- 
company her. Poor Mary, seeing how much in earnest 
her aunt was in her wishes, busied herself to select the 
songs she could best sing ; and whilst she was so doing, 
Aunt Fanny also slipped in an old book containing 
some of her own obsolete songs, in case she might have a 
fitting opportunity to exhibit her powers. 

At length the morning of the eventful day arrived, and 
the hour for dressing soon followed. We will pass over all 
the bustle and anxiety, and gently glide over the nume- 
rous difficulties which the reader may easily suppose took 
place on this occasion, in order to arrive at the grand re- 
sult ; and we will describe the appearance of the ladies se- 
riatim as rustling with unusual sounds from their dress- 
ing-rooms, they one by one disgorged from the narrow 
staircase and stood erect in the parlour. 

Aunt Barbara, first, arrayed in her new gray gown, stood 
looking around her above and below as if she had been 
metamorphosed into some new being ; and truly nobody 
who had seen her in the morning could well have taken 
her for the same person. She had indeed kept her word, 
and had carefully abstained from cutting out her gown ac- 
cording to Miss Woodby’s pattern. Her neck and shoul- 
ders were comfortably covered : she had so successfully 
trimmed up to her very throat, that she might not unaptly 
be compared to one of those larger owls which, furred and 
ruffled up to the eyes, are sometimes pleased to look out of 
an ivy-bush. Then her sleeves, so large and ample in Miss 
W oodby’s gown, sjie had pared away to answer very much in 
shape to a pair of moderate-sized bellows ; and as compared 
to the modern forms of ladies, (for she despised all artifi- 
cial redundancies of person,) she looked like a tree that had 
just been pollarded, or like something cut to the quick. 
But with all this she wore an appearance of great respect- 


65 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


ability ; and however strange it might appear to our eyes 
now, we would uphold her dress in preference to that of 
many a lady of fifty, who exhibits her decayed person to 
every glancing eye, and runs the chance of being made ill 
rather than forego the charm of being in the fashion. 

But when Aunt Fanny made her appearance, it was 
quite with a different air. She could not resist the fasci- 
nations of a fashionable gown ; and although she had not 
in fact listened to Lady Thomson’s doctrine of lowering 
her tucker, yet she had shortened her skirts ; and there 
she stood with her country-made shoes, exhibiting her Teet, 
never naturally too small, looking like one uncertain whe- 
ther she had done right or wrong. Her whole look and 
manner too were changed since the morning : living in a 
state of illusion concerning her real age, still thinking her- 
self entitled to stand in the ranks of youth, she had matched 
her ribands to her imagination, and not to her complexion ; 
by which means she produced a failure in general effect, 
like the painter who, called upon to restore a decayed land- 
scape representing an autumnal scene, makes use of col- 
ours only adapted to the freshness of spring. The cherry- 
coloured silk matched ill with a complexion no longer the 
delight of the lily or the rose : it rose in judgment against 
naked arms and a bare neck, and seemed to enjoy a secret 
triumph in putting into confusion the ambition of approach- 
ing age, which was making this expiring effort for supre- 
macy. In arraying herself in her new attire, she seemed to 
have thrown off her usual apathy of manner : all at once 
she assumed a youthful and lively air and manner, and 
tripped about in unceasing activity as if to acquire prac- 
tice in the management of her feet in their new and ex- 
posed position. 

Mary came down dressed with a degree of beauty and 
propriety which was astonishing considering that this 
might be called her first appearance in society, which 
proves that good sense, wherever it exists, will preside over 
every action, whether in the greater or in the smaller con- 
cerns of life. Her hair was gracefully and simply arranged, 
ornamented by a single flower placed precisely where it 
ought to be. Her dress, which was neither fashioned by 
the hand of prudery nor that of extravagant display, was 
so beautifully made, that while it sufficiently pourtrayed 
the grace of her form, it still retained every restraint of 
propriety, and made it impossible for criticism to find fault. 


ABEL ALLNUTT,. 69 

Altogether, nothing could be more worthy of admiration 
than her whole appearance. 

All being ready, properly secured by cloaks and bonnets, 
they ascended their chaise, and honest brown then drove 
off with the dignity of a duke’s body coachman ; whilst old 
Betty, together with another, her companion in the kitchen, 
who had attended at the door to see them off, persisted in 
looking at them until they turned the corner of the lane 
and were fairly out of sight. 

“ Well, I declare !” said old Betty ; “ how charming they 
all looked ! — how handsome was ‘ missis !’ ” (so they called 
Aunt Bab) — “ how sweet was Miss Mary !”’ 

“ Ah, I liked Miss Fanny best,” said the other ; “she was 
so fine !” 

“ Yes,” said old Betty ; “ she was fine, ’tis true : but then 
’twas a pity she was so lively — with such large feet too !” 


CHAPTER X. 

Lady Thomson , the Queen of Cheltenham. The effect of 
her presence in village life. 

Ever since the day of Abel’s visit to Belvidere Mrs. 
Goold Woodby had been in a state of unceasing activity to 
prepare the house for the reception of Lady Thomson. 
The drawing-room furniture was uncovered, the state bed- 
room aired, all the best china and glass were brought to 
light, and every thing done to denote the reception of a 
person of the first quality. The fact is, Mrs. Goold Wood- 
by was ambitious of exhibiting herself in the very best co- 
lours to her friend, who had great reputation for taste and 
knowledge in the art of living, and who had made herself so 
much feared by the tyranny which she exercised wherever 
she went, that in every arrangement, be it in the ordering 
of a dish or the distribution of furniture, or in dress, or in 
the choice of servants, Mrs. Woodby’s universal text was, 

“ What will Lady Thomson think 1” In illustration of this, 
we must say that she had given orders that all the men-ser- 
vants down to the gardener were to be ready in attend- 
ance in the hall, duly dressed and powdered, to appear 
as soon as Lady Thomson should drive up, to form a lane 


70 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


for her to walk through, which as she had been told, was 
performed in the houses of the great. The moment was 
now fast approaching for her ladyship’s arrival ; the butler, 
the under-butler, the two footmen, the coachman, the 
groom, the gardener — all were there powdered, (all except 
the gardener,) stiff in their new liveries, gorgeous in worsted 
and plush, and bristling with batteries of the largest double- 
crested buttons that had ever been made. When Mrs. 
Woodby, as agitated as any stage-manager upon a first 
night, came to inspect them, she observed that the gardener 
had not powdered his head, and inquired the reason why. 
The good man endeavoured to excuse himself by saying 
that gardeners never powdered ; but when he was pressed 
narrowly to explain what had become of the flour which 
he had received for the purpose, he was obliged to confess 
that his wife had made it into a pudding, and that he had 
in a moment of temptation devoted that to his belly which 
had been intended for his head. We will suppress, for the 
honour of the sex, the feelings of anger that rose in her 
breast, and the form of words in which they were expressed; 
but just as she had ordered the culprit away to the flower- 
tub, the teeming equipage was perceived in the distance mak- 
ing the best of its way to the door, and all was hushed into 
order in expectation of the eventful moment. Mrs. Wood- 
by retreated to the drawing-room for the purpose of re- 
ceiving her guest with becoming dignity, her heart beating 
with a thousand different feelings, and seated herself upon 
the corner of a sofa, so prodigiously new and glossy that 
she thought herself committing an act of sacrilege in mak- 
ing a print of her person upon it. But before she did this, 
she loudly called to her daughters to appear, exclaiming 
“ Anne — Ellen, come down immediately ! Here is Lady 
Thomson coming ; and if you are not here to receive her, 
what will she think 1” 

She scarcely had time to regain her breathing after this 
effort, before in walked Lady Thomson herself, in all the 
pomp and circumstance of travelling-dress, furred and vel- 
veted at all points, properly hung about with chains and 
brooches, lap-dog under the arm, and a lady companion 
bringing up the rear. Perhaps the reader may at once 
recognize the sort of personage we mean to introduce .to 
his acquaintance ; if he should not, then we will assert that 
she was as fine a specimen of the genus maitr esse femme 
as might be seen : loud and free of speech, bluff in her 
deportment, exacting attentions, heedless of giving troth 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


7 1 


ble, careless of giving offence, addicted to violent wrench- 
ing of the hand, and to patting on the shoulder by way of 
protection and a thorough mistress of egotism in all its 
branches. 

She walked in with her hands extended; and, Inflicting 
a kiss on both Mrs. Woodby’s cheeks, she exclaimed, 
“ Well, my dear Woodby, here I am at last! I thought we 
should never get here.” TJhen, turning to her follower, 
she said, “ Let me introduce Miss Swallow then, un- 
mindful of her friend, she said to the said follower, “ Here, 
Swallow, take the dog ; you had better see it washed and 
combed, and get it a chicken, for it’s dying of hunger. 
Then turning to her friend again, she said, as she looked 
about her, “This is a charming room and looking at the 
furniture, added, “ and what very handsome silk !” 

“ I’m glad you like it — I was sure you would,” said 
Mrs. Woodby; “it cost us fifteen shillings a yard, and is 
quite new.” 

“ New ! to be sure it is,” said Lady Thomson ; “ but 
why is it new — don’t you always sit in this room 1” 

“No, never except we have company,” said Mrs. Wood- 
by, quite exulting. 

“ There you’re wrong, Woodby,” said her friend ; “ it’s 
quite vulgar not to sit in your best room ; — nothing so vul- 
gar as a new thing, and particularly new furniture. I do 
believe you never sat upon this sofa before!” Upon which 
she bestowed herself upon its soft cushions with a consi- 
derable concussion, and then looked about her with so cri- 
ticising an eye that it made poor Mrs. Woodby wince with 
apprehension. 

“ Now, what are all those chairs doing against the wall,” 
she continued, “ like so many raw recruits in a row 1 
They ought to be spread about the room to sit in, to be 
sure. Then you ought to group your tables, — not one 
great round thing in the middle, like a room in an inn. 
And where are your books, your drawings, your albums 1 
You look for all the world now as if you had dropped 
from the skies, like Eve in paradise ! Then those glass 
things — what do you call them 1 — upon the chimney-piece 
— they won’t do, indeed they won’t ; such trash is quite 
out. You must have old vases or some of the fashionable 
crooked candlesticks : I’ll sell you mine a bargain.” Then 
jumping up as if she were inspired, she flew about the 
room, and pulling the chairs from their places, the tables 
from their corners, she managed to bring them all in a 


n 


ABEL ALLNUTTr 


cluster into the middle, and produced so utter a confusion, 
that, notwithstanding her love of Lady Thomson and her 
desire to be in the fashion, Mrs. Woodby fairly stood 
aghast at this destruction of what, from her earliest youth, 
she had always been taught to esteem as the height of 
gentility: 

“ There, that’s the sort of thing,” said Lady Thomson ; 
“ none of your stiffness — every thing must be free and 
easy.” 

“ Free and easy with a vengeance !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Woodby between her teeth, and scarcely recovering from 
the shock which her old prejudices had received. 

“But where is Anne — where is Ellen,* said Lady Thom- 
son, “ and Mr. Woodby] Do they know that I am come I” 

“ I’ll call them,” said her friend ; and she was just about 
to ring the bell, when in rushed Anne, followed by her 
sister, dressed in the smartest of morning dresses, and 
looking quite the pictures of rude health and vulgar satis- 
- faction. 

“ My dear Anne,” said Lady Thomson, before she kissed 
her, and looking straight into her face with a scrutinising 
air, “ what do I see on your nose 1 That must not be : 
have you no sticking-plaister 1 If you are intended to be 
seen, let us have none of this: you know Lord Demone 
is to be here to-morrow. And Ellen, too, — my dear, why 
do you flatten your hair down in that fashion over your 
forehead 1 If you had a Pasta face, I would say nothing ; 
but ringlets' always go with dimples : mind, that’s the 
rule.” 

“ I thought,” said Mrs. Woodby, somewhat recovered 
from her late shock, “that Lord Demone was to have 
come with you. We are all ready for him|: his sheets 
are well aired, and so is his bed.” 

“ I thought it right,” said Lady Thomson, in a tone of 
dignity and somewhat of mystery, “ not to travel in the 
same carriage with Lord Demone : it is a duty I owe to 
myself not to travel with him. He will be here to-mor- 
row.” 

Every body has some sort of rule by which they pretend 
to shape their conduct in life. Lady Thomson’s universal 
dictum for every thing she did was given in the following form 
of words : — ‘ I owe it to myself’ — or ‘it is a duty which I 
owe to myself’ — or ‘ in justice to my own self,’ — thus rais- 
ing a debt which, in her prodigality of duty, she was heap- 
ing upon her own head ; but at the same time like a wise 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


73 


financier, creating a sinking-fund of self-will, which enabled 
her to clear the debt whenever she pleased. In the present 
instance, the application of this rule of conduct happened 
to be well adapted to existing circumstances, inasmuch as 
the lady was about forty-five, and the gentleman above fifty 
years of age; but it also was a principle which she applied 
as a vindication of every folly, and of every act of egotism. 
As an instance both of her egotism, and of the application 
of her rule, we will state that she had not sat long with her 
friends ere she informed them that, in addition to Lord 
Demone, she had invited another of her friends to Belve- 
dere besides Miss Swallow, her companion, whose pre- 
sence had not been contemplated — one, be it said, of those 
many idle and insignificant danglers whom it was pleasant 
to her vanity to have appended to her suite, and of whose 
arrival up to this moment she had not* given the smallest 
intimation. Mrs. Woodby was rather startled at this piece 
of intelligence, and began to show evident symptoms of 
that sort of infirmity called ‘ the fidgets,’ which is common 
to anxious housekeepers. “ I wish you had told me of this 
before,” said Mrs. Woodby, “ for then I might have given 
him the blue room : pray who may he be!” 

“My dear,” said Lady Thomson, nothing abashed at the 
inconvenience which she had evidently occasioned, “ it is a 
duty I owe to myself, go 'where I will, to see the best society : 
I always do it- — I lay it down as a rule. Mr. Simpleton 
Sharp is the gentleman I have invited : he is a particular 
friend of Lord Demone, and indeed he never goes any 
where without him; he is very much the fashion, and is 
quite indispensable in every genteel thing — at Cheltenham. 
I am sure you will like him — every body likes him : he plays 
better at whist than most people, and is first cousin to the 
great Mr. Simpleton of Yorkshire.” 

After this eulogium, of course Mrs. and the Miss Wood- 
bys could not be otherwise than highly impatient to be- 
come acquainted with so accomplished a person and make 
so desirable an acquaintance ; and as both he and Lord 
Demone are soon to be brought more intimately to the 
reader’s notice, we must say a few words concerning them 
by way of introduction. . 

Lord Demone was an Irish peer, the owner of an ancient 
castle situated in one of the most peaceable counties of Ire- 
land, in which almost every place begins with the syllable 
Kil, surrounded by a park which once had been flourishing, 
but which, alas ! was so no more ; for his revenues, which 

Vol. L — 7 


74 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


once had also been flourishing, alas ! also, were so no more. 
His object was to increase them by marriage ; and having 
found in Lady Thomson a person willing to further this 
scheme, he attached himself to her during a season at Chel- 
tenham, and fixed upon Anne Woodby as his victim. He 
had been a sensualist, commonly called a bon vivant , all his 
life ; had ever shown himself the most generous and liberal 
of men by refusing himself nothing; and was every where 
received with open arms, because he was a wit, and one 
who excited laughter. In age he was past fifty ; his person 
was without attraction, for he was rather slovenly in his 
dress, and totally divested of any of the pretensions of a 
coxcomb. He had a keen eye, and his smife, which never 
condescended to roar into laughter, expressed much of the 
comicality of a wag, mixed up with a sufficient quantum 
of the bitterness of satire. 

Mr. Simpleton Sharp, on the other hand, was quite a dif- 
ferent person, He was young, had round fed cheeks and 
a white forehead ; plump in his person ; dressed with the 
most studied precision; and exhibited in his manner such 
vivid self-approbation, that every one who approached him 
longed to slap his face. His unmeaning countenance was 
a true index of his mind, which never generated an idea 
of its own, but, like the boa after a meal, would ruminate 
long and sluggishly upon the good things he had taken in, 
and then after a lengthened digestion turn them to his own 
advantage. His ambition was to be thought a wit, and he 
had attached himself to Lord Demone with a view of catching 
by reflection some of the brightness that surrounded him, 
aping his mode of speech and repeating his stories, and oc- 
casionally becoming the butt at which the wit levelled his 
shafts. Lord Demone’s manner was irresistibly comic, and 
his face was always curling up into incipient mirth, like the 
cover, of a pot, which just lifted up by the steam from the 
boiling liquid, discovers that there are good things within ; 
whilst Simpleton Sharp looked like one who is ever on the 
point of bringing forth a good thing without actually being 
known to have a safe delivery, or as a man about to sneeze 
who stops short with an unrealised spasm. 

The day of their arrival was the one pitched upon for 
the dinner to which the Allnutts had been invited, and great 
was the stir produced in the house in consequence of this 
event. Lord and Lady Thorofield, the grandees of the 
neighbourhood, for the first time were expected, besides 
others of distinction in the county, and nothing was left 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


75 


undone to make Lady Thomson and her friend pleased 
with their reception. The servants at an early hour thronged 
the passages to the dining-room, running against each other 
in the eagerness of preparation, and, unpractised in their 
vocation, ‘spoilt more than they mended.’ The din in the 
kitchen was great, and portended a result of singular pro- 
duction. Mrs. Woodby during the progress of the opera- 
tions would every now and then steal down to those re- 
gions of roasting and boiling, and hold mysterious confer- 
ences with the cook ; whilst Mr. Woodby busied himself 
in the cellar. The young ladies mean while were in con- 
stant communication with their wardrobe and their maid, 
devising the most effectual mode of setting off their per- 
sons, of fascinating their male guests, and of conciliating 
Lady Thomson. 


4 * 

CHAPTER XI. 

One of the best standards for good breeding is the common 
process of eating and drinking. 

We believe that no people in the world are more afflicted 
with shyness than the English. Whatever may be the 
cause, — whether it be from nervous apprehension, or pride, 
or from any other reason, — true it is that its effects are 
most inconvenient. Some it apparently places in hostility 
with their fellows, at one time causing them to shun their 
presence as if they fled from the plague, at anothef to meet 
them with trembling and perturbation. Others, casting a 
veil over the finest qualities of the heart and understanding, 
it makes them appear like fools and idiots, and they commit 
acts that belong only to fatuity ; whilst others again, who 
yield in despair to its influence, it leads to put on the face of 
boldness and effrontery, the mind being so disturbed by its 
infirmity that it totally for the moment destroys the real 
character and exhibits one entirely artificial. 

The Allnutts were all, more or less, constitutionally shy ; 
and their seclusion from society had given them no habits 
of controlling their emotions. A charitable observer would 
have remarked, that in the midst of their awkwardness 
they possessed the foundation of the most polished man- 


76 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


ners, — namely, the greatest benignity of mind, a disposition 
to think well of all people, and a total absence of selfish- 
ness ; but in the circle to which they were going, it will be 
seen that their simplicity was laughed at and their good 
qualities overlooked; 

The carriage, driven by honest Brown, just drove up to 
the door of Belvidere Hall as Abel, in the face of an assem- 
bled row of servants, was puzzling and shuffling over the 
simple operation of taking off his dirty shoes and putting 
on his dress-ones ; and when,, hot and perplexed by the 
exertion, he looked up and beheld his sisters, he was re- 
lieved and overjoyed. They soon joined him, and then 
with silent trepidation prepared themselves to encounter 
the first awful entrance into the drawing-room. Aimt 
Bab smoothed herself down, assumed an air of resolution, 
and taking Abel’s arm, headed the column ; Aunt Fanny, 
giving a twist to her curls, threw a glance over her tucker, 
and a look to her feet, and then received under her arm 
the hand of the timid Mary, who woqld willingly have re- 
treated from the ordeal to which she felt that they were 
about to be exposed. The doors were thrown wide open: 
with their eyes suffused with agitation, and their senses al- 
most in abeyance, they entered into the splendid apartment, 
where, lo ! like a ship turning at once from a ruffled sea 
into a calm bay, their fears and apprehensions were quieted 
as if by magic, for no one was there — the place was unte- 
nanted, and instead of the visions of new and unknown 
faces which they were about to encounter, they merely saw 
the place “ where the pasty was not.” They had in fact, 
arrived half an hour before their time. 

This reprieve, immediately restored them to their self- 
possession, and still scarcely venturing to speak louder than 
in a whisper, they eyed with admiration the magnificence 
of the room and. the beauty of the furniture. They had 
sat there some time, when in walked one whom we have 
already described as Mr. Simpleton Sharp, who taking 
Aunt Bab for Mrs. Goold Woodby, (not having yet been 
presented to his hostess,) stepped up to her rather with a 
protecting air, though still with a most urbane manner, 
said, “ How much he was obliged to Lady Thomson for 
having been the means of affording him the pleasure of 
making her acquaintance.” 

Aunt Bab, who was not prepared for this, and not ex- 
actly seeing the mistake, speaking in the name of the fami- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


77 


Iy, said, “ We have not the honour of knowing Lady 
Thomson yet — we are just arrived.” 

“ I beg you a thousand pardons,” said the other; “I took 
you for Mrs. Goold Woodby. I hope that I have given no 
offence.” 

“ Our name is Allnutt,” said Babb : “ there can be no 
offence where none is meant.” 

“Ah, Allnutt — Woodby, — ha, very good — very rural,” 
said Simpleton Sharp with his mouth wide open, endea- 
vouring to combine something in his shallow intellect which 
might pass for wit : but nothing obeyed his call save cer- 
tain abortive hums and hahs, until Mr. and Mrs. Goold 
Woodby together entered the room. They looked both 
hot and contentious, for they had in truth scarcely reco- 
vered from a very vivacious argument which they had just 
held respecting the right of precedence between Lady 
Thomson and Lady Thorofield. Mrs. Woodby, being but 
indifferently versed in court matters, contended for her 
friend Lady Thomson, whom she invoked as the first lady 
at Cheltenham, and one who was looked up to as the first 
of her sex : whilst Mr. Woodby in vain asserted that Lady 
Thorofield was a peeress of the realm, and that she had as 
much right to walk out of a room first as a bishop has to 
make his exit before a dean. 

As soon as they had properly greeted their guests and 
made acquaintance with Mr. Simpleton Sharp, their argu- 
ment was renewed, both endeavouring to secure an autho- 
rity for their respective opinions. Simpleton Sharp, who 
was conversant in such like discussions, of course at once 
decided the controversy in favour of Mr. Woodby ; but 
Mrs. Woodby still persevered in endeavouring to procure 
the approbation of her own sex. “I should like to know,” 
she exclaimed in the height of her enthusiasm for her 
friend, — “ I should like to know who Lady Thorofield was! 
Why, isn’t she the daughter of old Grimes, the former 
lord’s agent, whose wife was a Tapps, — one of the Tappses 
of the Hare and Hounds on the London Road, and one of 
a family, if people speak truth, the son of whom was trans- 
ported for poaching. I should like to know why she should 
be better than Lady Thomson !” 

She was cut short in her argument by the appearance 
of Lady Thomson herself, who came sweeping in, in all the 
dignity of a velvet gown and a cap of no ordinary dimen- 
sions. The proper introductions immediately ensued ; and 
as Mrs. Woodby had already duly apprised Lady Thom- 

7 * 


7 8 


ABEL ALLNUTT* 


son that the Allnutts were related to Lord Knutsford, and. 
as Lady Thomson felt unbounded respect for every thing 
that had the most distant reference to nobility, she did not 
fail to pay them marked attention; although in glancing 
her eye over their dress and appearance, she could not re- 
frain from drawing conclusions upon that head which the 
worldly and vulgar-minded are too apt to do. The well- 
clothed neck and throat of Aunt Barbara attracted her at- 
tention as much as the bright cherry-coloured silk of Aunt 
Fanny’s gown, which shone throughout the assembled 
group as bright as the blaze of a blacksmith’s fire does 
amidst the sober-coloured cottages of a village hamlet. 

Lord Demone soon after made his appearance; and at 
the announcement of Lord and Lady Thorofield the dinner 
was ordered to be served up, when that interval of sus- 
pense took place which by no exertion of ingenuity can 
ever be made agreeable. Simpleton Sharp tried in vain 
to say something agreeable upon Lady Thompson’s lap- 
dog; Lady Thomson whispered to Lord Demone, who did 
not cease eyeing each individual assembled with the scru- 
tiny of a satirist; whilst Mr„ Woodby had not lost a mo- 
ment in entertaining Lady Thorofield upon the subject of 
his lodges, his shields, and the virtues and high qualities of 
Stone the architect. 

As soon as the joyful words of “Dinner is hon the 
table,” audibly pronounced by a rustic butler, were heard, 
the procession gradually proceeded to the scene of action; 
Mr. Woodby taking the lead with Lady Thorofield, whilst 
at the .same time he threw a look of triumph towards his 
wife, who was thinking all the while that Lady Thomson 
was an ill-used woman. 

Mrs. Woodby havingtaken her seat where it is the pride 
of an English wife to sit— that is, at ‘ the head of her table,’ 
flanked on either side' by dignitaries after her own heart, 
soon began to dispense her attentions to her guests in those 
terms of civility which in her estimation were the touch- 
stone of good breeding. “ My lady, pray allow me to as- 
sist you to some fish. — My lord, won’t you be pleased to 
play with a sweetbread! — Won’t you be ‘prevailed’ upon 
to ‘try’ a kidney! — Mr. Simpleton Sharp, pray be ‘in- 
duced. Miss Barbara Allnutt, I’m afraid there’s nothing 
here that you ‘ prefer.’— All you see before you, my lord, 
we do at home: we bake, brew, milk, fish, kill our own 
mutton and lay our own eggs, all at home— Mr. Goold 
Woodby will tell you the same.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


79 


“ I presume that your young ladies are home-made also,” 
said Lord Demone, taking up his glass and looking at Mary 
Allnutt, with whose beauty he had been particularly smit- 
ten, although he would fain have made the mother believe 
that he talked of her daughters. “ Ydu ought not to have 
forgotten them ; they do more credit to your farm than 
your eggs.” 

“ Indeed, my lord,” said the good lady, not seeing the 
point of his humour, “they have nothing to do with the 
farm; they have had all the advantages of the genteelest 
education — we have spared nothing to bring them up in 
the best principles of perfection and then lowering her 
voice, in a whisper she added, “ And Mr. Wood by, there, 
is quite determined to give them each handsome fortunes. 
You see they are our only children, besides our son 
Thomas, and therefore we can afford to do it, and hand- 
somely too.” 

“ But you eat nothing yourself, ma’am,” said Lord Tho- 
rofield, who was an old sportsman, and who, having been 
in the field all the morning, was too hungry to say much. 

Mrs. Woodby’s principal pretensions to gentility, as far 
as regarded her own person, lay in three things: an ambi- 
tion to be thought to have a weak stomach, her friendship 
for Lady Thomson, and her ancient lineage. In answer to 
Lord Thorofield’s accusation of eating nothing, she said, 
“ Ah, my lord, ever since the time of Charles the Second 
the Goolds have been famous for their bad stomachs; — I 
am a thorough Goold, and that's the truth of it— I never 
do eat any thing myself:” and then with a soft sigh added, 
“ And that I can’t digest.” 

“ Ah, difficulty of digestion, ’tis true, is the general com- 
plaint now-a-days,” remarked Simpleton Sharp ; “ ’tis said 
to be the lawyer’s complaint — at least it was so when I 
studied in the Temple.” 

“ There is nothing extraordinary in that,” said Demone. 

“ And wherefore]” said his companion. 

“ Because more laws are made than can be digested,” 
replied the other. 

‘ Ha ! ha ! that’s very good !” exclaimed Simpleton Sharp ; 
“I never thought of that.” Then, turning himself to Lady 
Thomson, he exclaimed, “ There, Lady Thomson, did you 
hear that] Demone says that Lawyers make more laws 
than we can digest — is not that excellent]” 

“ His lordship is always sure to say the best thing at the 
best time,” said Lady Thomson from the other end of the 


80 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


table, where she had been entertained by Woodby upon 
some one of his favourite subjects, owing to which propen- 
sity the reader has no doubt ere this discovered that he 
enjoyed the worst of reputations — that of being ‘ a bore.’ 
This observation of Lady Thomson had stopped the cur- 
rent of his talk ; when, turning himself towards the All- 
nutts, who had for mutual protection seated themselves in 
a row near each other, addressing Aunt Fanny, who was 
nearest to him, in a pompous tone of voice, he asked her, 
“ I hope Lord Knutsford was quite well when last you heard 
from his lordship 1” 

“We never hear from him,” said Aunt Fanny, looking 
towards her sister to know what she should say ; “ but I 
believe he is well.” 

Woodby then announced to her with a consequential 
look, as if he were the possessor of state secrets, that there 
were great rumours of a change of administration ; and 
then added, “ I hear that he is to have a seat in the cabi- 
net.” 

“ Is he!” said Fanny, puzzled, and with much hesita- 
tion ; “ I never knew that cabinets were made to sit in !” 

This remark, made at a moment when a dead silence 
had happened to take place in the usual clatter of the din- 
ner, brought the eyes of the whole table upon her, and 
every sort of smile, from the smile of astonishment to that 
of derision, might have been remarked upon the faces of 
most of the company present. 

Both Abel and Barbara had frequently felt confused at 
the ignorance and simplicity which Fanny often betrayed 
upon the common things of life, although, in truth be it 
spoken, they themselves were not much more enlightened ; 
but, on this occasion, they were distressed, inasmuch as her 
remark brought the observation of the whole table upon 
them all. Lord Demone’s scrutiny had fallen more upon 
the beautiful and unconscious Mary, although, at the same 
time he could not refrain showing how much he was 
amused at Aunt Fanny’s simplicity. He had heard of 
country simplicity, but never could- believe in its exist- 
ence; rural seclusion he conceived never could prevail 
now-a-days to such an extent as to make any one igno- 
rant of the affairs of the world; and the more he re- 
marked her who had so exposed herself and those to whom 
she was connected, so he was drawn more particularly to 
scrutinize their manners, and give heed to what they 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


81 


should say, in the hope of eliciting matter for feeding the 
springs whence his satire flowed. 

“ I believe,” said Lord Demone, addressing himself to 
Aunt Barbara, — “I believe that Allnutt is the family name 
of the title of Knutsfordl” 

“ Yes, it is,” said Barbara, happy to withdraw the atten- 
tion of the table from Fanny, who, however, was not con- 
scious of having committed herself. 

“ It is a good old Saxon name,” said Demone. 

“ I thought it might have been French,” said Simpleton 
Sharp with as much wisdom as he could throw into his 
unmeaning face, ringing the changes upon the word. 

“ It is no more French than your Johnsons and your 
Thompsons are French,” said Lord Demone. 

“ I hope you will recollect, my lord, that my name is 
Thomson,” said the lady, with a visible change of counte- 
nance, and a manner that showed how little she was 
pleased with his observation. 

Lord Demone at once saw that he had involved himself 
In a dilemma, and, with peculiar quickness, answered, 
“ My dear lady, your name is Thomson, ’tis true ; but then 
it is Thomson without a p — that makes all the difference. 
The Thomsons without a p are a totally different people 
from those who possess that consonant ; they are decidedly 
French — they came over with the Conqueror. Tonson is 
a real Norman name. The first tonsure, that distinguish- 
ing mark in the Catholic Church, was first inflicted in 
France on a dignitary belonging to that family : besides, 
surely you recollect the famous French old song of ‘ Mon- 
sieur Tonson,’ that you will allow to be decisive in favour 
of its origin and its antiquity.” 

These remarks at once soothed the irritated feelings of 
Lady Thomson ; and having, by this short explanation 
learned more concerning her family than she had ever 
known before, she was delighted to find that she was so 
distinguished, and for the future greedily treasured up in 
her mind that she was a Thomson without a p. 

“ Then who are the Thompsons with a p ?” inquired 
Simpleton Sharp. “ Is it not strange that there should be 
so much affinity between the two names 1” 

‘‘ They are vulgar English — pure cockneys. Some 
savage butcher of Smithfield once beat his son, no doubt, 
and thence was called Thumpson, or Thompson — there 
can be no doubt of that etymology.” 

By the time that this conversation had ended, the first 


82 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


stage of the dinner had also come to a close, when Mrs. 
Goold Woodby, still determined to uphold the precedence 
and privileges of Lady Thomson, bobbed her head to that 
lady as a signal for departure, and then glancing at Lady 
Thorofield, all the ladies rose and left the table to the gen- 
tlemen, according to the most approved forms of English 
life. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A proof that the self-important man and a bore are iden- 
tified. 

As soon as the door had been closed upon the last petti- 
coat, Woodby, still full of the subject which had been under 
discussion,— that is, the derivation of surnames, — and 
taking his seat at the head of the table, continued to dwell 
upon it ; for it was one of those upon which he was al- 
ways ready to say much. First, he narrated the oftentimes- 
repeated history of his own name, entering into all the va- 
rious reasons which had caused him to change it, until his 
guests audibly yawned their desire for a change of sub- 
ject ; then, with great self-complacency, he gave a full ac- 
count of his wife’s name and lineage, until at length he 
glided into the history of the Goold arms and motto. Ad- 
dressing himself particularly to Lord Demone, he said^ “ I 
possess the very coat of arms that was granted to my 
wife’s ancestor, Sir Jugg Goold, and which hung as a sign 
over his door, according to the fashion of those days, de- 
noting that he was the king’s goldsmith.” Then pointing 
to a dark painting handsomely framed, which hung over 
the chimney-piece, he added, “ There — that is the very 
sign itself! — there you will see the arms granted by Charles 
the Second, a hand wielding a hammer, being, as you may 
observe, an indication or illustration of his art ; and un- 
derneath the very appropriate motto Aurum quam bonum , 
which in the Latin language means ‘ Gold is good ; a de- 
licate mode of his majesty’s of that day to denote that he 
at once applauded and approved of Goold the goldsmith 
and gold the metal.” Then taking up a candle, he drew 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 83 

Lord Demone and his other hearers to the inspection of 
the painting. 

Demone’s face had long been portentous of wicked in- 
tentions. Oppressed by the intensity of the bore, groaning 
with inward anguish, and watching his first opportunity 
for revenge, he looked about for some instrument which 
he might use with advantage. Reading the motto under 
the shield, he remarked, “Ah, Aurum quam bonum! ‘Gold 
is good !’ — very happy indeed ; but I don’t think that was 
the intended mode of spelling the word bonum. In those 
days, bonum was spelt with an r.” Then approaching the 
candle, he said, “ Ah, and so it was ! — there you can see 
that the original r has been scratched out, and an n sub- 
stituted. I thought there must have been something more 
than met the eye : the Merry Monarch intended to say 
‘Goold is a bore,’ that was his object — he despised riches, 
and thought his goldsmith an ass. 

Woodbyfelt sensibly distressed, although he would fain 
have made it believed that he too relished the joke. Those 
who understood the allusion could scarcely suppress the 
impulse of their merriment ; whilst Simpleton Sharp, whose 
slow intellect had not compassed the full meaning of De- 
mone’s sarcasm, thought he had originated a very shrewd 
observation, when he remarked that this was an age for 
improvement, and that great progress had been made in 
orthography since the Restoration. 

It was observed that until after Lord Demone had taken 
his departure, Mr. Woodby never reverted to the Goold 
shield and motto ; for the new interpretation put upon it, 
which he felt might implicate his dignity, so entirely stop- 
ped the flow of his unceasing dissertations upon himself 
and his affairs, that it was remarked he had never been so 
agreeable as on that night. 

Upon the return of the gentlemen into the drawing-room, 
they found the ladies engrossed in looking at some draw- 
ings, and in the highest admiration of their excellence ; all 
excepting Lady Thomson, who sat aloof talking with Mrs. 
Woodby. Miss Woodby had been explaining to Aunt 
Barbara, whilst Mary was listening with great attention, 
and the fair Ellen seated near at hand, that these drawings 
were the performance of Edward Manby, who no sooner 
had been invited to contribute something to be disposed of 
for charitable purposes at the ensuing bazaar, than he sent 
the present beautiful productions. 

“And pray tell us who is Edward Manby I” said Aunt 


84 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Barbara to Mr. Woodby as soon as he appeared. “He 
seems to be a very clever young man.” 

“Edward Manby,” said Woodby, taking up a pompous 
and protecting tone, “is a very good young man — indeed 
I may say that he is a remarkably clever young man and 
deserves to be encouraged. He is a poor youth without 
parents — an orphan in fact, if I may be allowed the expres- 
sion, with whom my son Tom got acquainted at college, 
and to whom I have been able to be of some little service. 
He has an uncle at Liverpool, a very respectable man, a 
brewer of some eminence, who educates him, and he is now 
at college. His father was an officer in the army, and died 
in the West Indies ; he was brother to the brewer in ques- 
tion ; and his mother, who was a well-born woman — at 
least so I have heard, fori don’t know her family, — died there 
also. His parents left no property whatever ; so Edward 
is totally dependant on his uncle’s generosity, who having 
a large family of his own, it is not likely he will ever have any 
other patrimony than his wits, for I hear his mothers family 
will have nothing to say to him. He comes here occasion- 
ally to see us from Liverpool when Tom is at home ; and 
my girls have, you see, got him to draw for our bazaar, 
and these are his drawings.” 

Having satisfied Barbara’s curiosity, he then walked 
away to some other part of the room, and left her surround- 
ed by Fanny, Mary, and the two Miss Woodbys, to pur- 
sue the subject upon which they were engrossed. Ed- 
ward’s beauty, the first of merits in the eyes of all women, 
was first discussed. The young ladies described his fea- 
tures one by one, — the outline of his face, the conforma- 
tion of his nose, the length and breadth of iris cheeks, chin 
and lips, and that very principal object of discussion, his 
eyes : then they talked of the colour of his hair and the 
brilliancy of his teeth, and, in short, gave so minute a de- 
scription of his person, that it was evident he had made no 
common impression upon their memories. They talked 
long and enthusiastically of his perfections ; compared him 
to each of their male acquaintance ; deplored his pover- 
ty ; but boldly asserted that nothing could prevent him 
from becoming the Lord Chancellor should he choose 
the law as his profession, or the Archbishop of Canterbury 
were he to go into the church. These observations sunk 
deep into Mary’s mind; Ellen sighed and looked like a de- 
sponding shepherdess ; whilst Aunt Barbara, taking a more 
matter-of-fact view of his circumstances, suggested that he 


ABEL ALLNUTT* 


85 


ought to bo recommended to turn his views to business, 
making no doubt that, with his great abilities, he would in 
time turn out to be a very great brewer. 

Lord Demone meanwhile, whether, with a desire of eli- 
citing amusement from Aunt Fanny’s simplicity, or through 
her to become acquainted with Mary, approached the more 
confirmed spinster and entered into conversation with her. 
She was flattered by his attention, and calling up one of 
those looks which in her best days would have inflamed 
every heart, she began to hope that her air and her cher- 
ry-coloured gown had done their duty. He acquired her 
good will and confidence by talking to her with great ea- 
gerness upon those airy nothings so usually discussed 
upon a first acquaintance ; and so effectually did he im- 
press her with the certainty of his being in earnest, that 
she was not long in persuading herself that her eyes had 
not lost their power. She therefore answered him with 
bestowing the aforementioned glance, which, old and prac- 
tised as he was in the amiable weaknesses of the softer 
sex, he soon subtracted from the amount of simplicity which 
he had expected to find in her character. He soon said 
enough to make her believe that he was struck with her 
appearance, and then descanted in general terms upon 
beauty, upon country beauties, upon the comparative 
charms of the beauties of that part of the country, and at 
last upon the positive beauty of her niece, who, uncon- 
scious of what was passing, sat listening to the conversa- 
tion upon Edward Manby with the attention of a child in- 
tent upon a story. 

“ Yes,” said Fanny, rather disconcerted at the digression 
from herself to her niece, — “Yes, John thinks her hand- 
some, and so do we ; but then we are partial. He is de- 
cidedly handsome, and there is a strong family likeness 
among us all.” 

“No doubt,” said Demone, — “no doubt,’* looking signi- 
ficantly in her face : “ he must be handsome if he is like 
those I have the pleasure of knowing. But pray, who is 
John I s ’ 

“ Oh, don't you know,” said Fanny in a tone of surprise, 
— “ dont’t you know John ! He is my brother, and Mary’s 
father.” Upon which she gave him a full account of his 
history, of his present views and undertakings, and of his 
future expectations. In proportion as she proceeded in 

Vol. I. — 8 


86 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


her narrative, so did her confidence in her hearer increase ; 
for he listened to her with the most well-bred attention, and 
so interested did he appear in all the various details of the 
family — of what Mary could do and what she could not 
do — of what Abel had suffered when he was a boy, and of 
his various infirmities now that he was a man — of Bar- 
bara’s knowledge of housekeeping — all mixed up in the 
most amusing medley which a mind not regulated by logic 
could produce, that his entertainment increased with the 
involutions of her narrative. Her aim had been to give 
him a high idea of John’s abilities ; which she did by nar- 
rating, with all the fidelity in her power, the various schemes 
which he had put into practice to make his fortune, but 
which had ended in his ruin ; and she had so well con- 
ducted her disclosures, that she ended by convincing her 
hearer that John was the very reverse of what she had 
been endeavouring to prove,— that is, instead of being a 
very wise man, that he was a very foolish one. 

When Lady Thomson observed how much Lord De- 
mohe was feasting his eyes upon Mary’s beauty, and that he 
was about attaching himself to her for the evening, by a 
sapient manoeuvre she threw herself forward, and making 
a few prefatory speeches upon the delights of music, soon 
engaged all parties to supplicate Miss Mary Allnutt for a 
song. In this request Demone earnestly joined, followed 
by Simpleton Sharp, and backed by the ponderous Wood- 
by, who, though he had about as much knowledge of mu- 
sic as he might have of astrology, thought it uncivil and 
inhospitable not to urge his timid guest to do that which 
she declared was disagreeable to herself 

In vain poor Mary looked alarmed and full of distress — 
in vain she turned with a beseeching air to her Uncle 
Abel, her refuge in all cases ; more dead than alive, she 
was dragged to the piano-forte, and there stood turning 
over the leaves of her music-book, whilst blushes suffused 
her cheeks and her temples throbbed with apprehension. 
Aunt Fanny, in order to give her encouragement, offered 
to accompany her ; and the time which she took in taking 
off her gloves, squaring her elbows, adjusting her feet, and 
striking a few antiquechords, gave Mary leisure to reason 
herself out of her timidity, and afterwards to sing one of 
her least pretending songs ; and this she did with an ex- 
pression so full of pathos and simplicity, that all hearts 
were soon enlisted on her side* The Miss Woodbys fob 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


87 


lowed, with an air of superiority that seemed to say, 
“ Now you shall hear something like Music !” Miss Anne 
struck two or three sound blows on the instrument by 
way of a fair start ; and then she and her sister engaged their 
voices in a tortuous Italian duo, so full of involution, each 
part being so nicely poised by science, that if one voice did 
not immediately respond or take up the other, all went 
wrong ; a piece of music, in fact, which would have re- 
quired all the nicety of tact and skill of professed singers 
to overcome the difficulties which it presented. The ad- 
venturous sisters, however, set off, without any apprehen- 
tions as to the result — they plunged at once into the thick- 
est of the dilemma, and then having thoroughly engaged 
in a sort of file-fireing of ti amo — mio sposo, and of mio 
sposo — ti amo , they finished by entangling themselves 
therein so effectually, that what was intended to be sung 
together was sung separately, and what was meant to be 
sung separately was sung together and produced conse- 
quences which ended in an utter confusion of sounds. Miss 
Ellen, at the top of her voice, false by excess of exertion, 
got to the last note of her finale a full minute before Miss 
Anne, who, nothing abashed at having been so much out- 
run, thought that she made all straight by the grand suc- 
cession of closing thumps which she struck upon her in- 
strument with a great air of bravado. 

The enraptured mother, who conceived that the more 
noise her daughters made the better they sung, went about 
seeking for congratulations upon their superior talent, and 
hinted again to Lord Demone that she had spared no ex- 
pense to bring them up in the first style ; and she whis- 
pered to him with an air of confidence, that as Anne always 
ate hearty, it was not fair to judge of her singing upon a 
full stomach ; but that if he should ever happen to hear her 
before her meals she would astonish him. 

Lord Demone said, he made no doubt that she would, 
and hoped that he might be informed whenever that event 
should happen ; but that he begged leave to say that he 
was very well pleased with what he had heard, for that he 
was fond of a full voice, which, he presumed, proceeded 
from a full stomach. 

Simpleton Sharp, who was at hand, and ever ready to 
laugh whenever his lordship opened his mouth, echoed this 
attempt at a joke far and wide, to the great mortification 
of Aunt Fanny, who \yas languishing under the expecta- 


88 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


tion of being asked to perform, which she visibly made 
known by the sort of singing face singers are apt to get 
up on such occasions, and which she did too significantly 
to be mistaken. Lord Demone was the first to understand 
the drtft of her machinations, and immediately pressed her 
to begin. Before any one but himself was prepared for 
the outbreak, she began, in powerful accents, to chant, 
“ Shepherds I have lost my love,” and thereby restored 
every one to that state of silent attention which is gene- 
rally produced by a woman’s voice, but which was broken 
by certain occasional titters excited by the richness of the 
exhibition. Aunt Fanny’s calls for her love were totally 
disregarded ; and by the time she reached the closing stanza, 
which she performed with scrupulous exactitude, her audi- 
ence had almost forgotten that she was straining her throat 
for their amusement, and, excepting the well-bred Demone, 
every one had deserted her, and were proceeding to dis- 
cussions in which her singing took no share. Her efforts 
wound up the amusements of the evening; and very soon 
after she had finished, the Allnutts took their departure, 
much thanked by the Woodbys, and much lauded, after 
they were fairly gone, by Lord Demone, and abundantly 
criticised by Lady Thomson. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A sneeze sometimes awakens , so a sudden change of subject 
produces variety. A letter from John Allnutt. 


The visit to Belvedere afforded matter of conversation 
to the inhabitants of Ivycote for many days after it had 
taken ’place. Aunt Fanny had been particularly gratified, 
for she could not refrain from encouraging a secret hope 
that she had made a conquest of Lord Demone ; whilst 
Mary, on the contrary^ felt as great a loathing when she 
reflected how much she had been an object of his observa- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


89 


tion. Aunt Barbara was glad to find that they had got so 
well over it; and Abel, who had scarcely been noticed by 
any one, said little, but thought much. 

Lord Demone had intimated to Fanny his intention of 
soon paying them a visit, and she was in daily expectation 
of that occurrence, when one morning, instead of his lord- 
ship, appeared the postman, bearing a letter, which was 
soon recognised to come from John. This happy event 
collected all the family together ; and Mary, to whom it 
was addressed, showed, by the sparkling of her eyes and 
the agitation of her manner, how much her feelings were 
interested at this instance of her father’s affection. As we 
do not wish the reader to lose sight of this member of the 
family, we will not apologise for giving his letter at full 
length. It was dated from Madeira ; and after Abel had 
settled the geography of that island for the satisfaction of 
his sisters, and having received permission from Mary to 
read the letter aloud, he began as follows : — 

“My dearest Mary, 

“ You will be glad to hear that I arrived quite safe at this 
place a few days ago, after a passage more full of incident 
and adventure than I could possibly have expected. We 
left Liverpool with a fair and steady breeze, which lasted 
for two days, during which time I had all the leisure to 
to think of you and your dear aunts and uncle at Ivycote, 
as well as to get acquainted with my ship, which I found 
to be an excellent sailer ; and indeed I think, if the owner 
had adopted my suggestions in making certain alterations, 
she would have been unrivalled. On the third day it began 
to blow. As we entered the Bay of Biscay the sea was 
very rough, which caused the ship to labour a great deal, 
obliging us to take a reef in our topsails ; which is an ope- 
ration that I need not describe, fearing it may not be in- 
telligible to a lady, — but it is more like making a tuck in a 
gown than any thing else which I can at present think of 
The next day we were seated at dinner in the cabin, when 
the mate rushed in with terror in his looks, saying, ‘ Sir, 
the bob-stay is carried away!’ Now, you may perhaps 
suppose that bob-stay might be a man, and might already 
begin to deplore his untimely end; but be not alarmed — 
it is only a piece of iron which secures the bowsprit, and 
acts in some manner as a martingale upon a horse’s he&d, 
and keeps it steady. I think that I have hit upon a new 

8 * 


90 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


method of making bob-stays, which will save the country 
a great deal of money, and shall send my views upon the 
subject to the Admiralty by the first opportunity. We 
were obliged to bear up for Rochelle, which was the near- 
est port, in order to repair our damage ; and we reached 
an anchorage at the mouth of the Garonne, where we ma- 
naged to secure our bowsprit. During our stay there I 
landed and was shown a great curiosity — it was the last 
house Bonaparte inhabited in France previously to his em- 
barkation to place himself in our hands. It struck me 
that a good speculation might be made in purchasing this 
house and transporting it to London, there to be erected 
and shown to the people of England. I was about striking 
a bargain for it during this my short stay in France, but 
was hurried away before I could accomplish it: however, 
I will keep it in mind as a good thing to do on some future 
occasion. 

“We sailed again, and coasting the high lands of Portu- 
gal, shaped our course for Madeira, where we anchored in 
Funchal roads without further accident. I was introduced 
to the Portuguese governor ” 

“ The Portuguese governor !” exclaimed Aunt Barbara : 
“ John must be wrong there. What have the Portuguese 
to do with Madeira — surely it belongs to us 1” 

“ 1 believe you will find that John is right,’* remarked 
Abel very quietly. “ Madeira has always belonged to Por- 
tugal.” 

“ It stands to reason that it does not,” retorted Barbara : 
“ for don’t all our consumptive patients go to Madeira 1 — 
no foreigners would allow that surely. You might as well 
say that those who die in the next parish have a right to 
bury their dead in our church yard. It stands to reason 
that I’m right.” 

Abel continued to read. 

“ — I was introduced to the Portuguese governor, to 
whom I communicated a plan for new paving and lighting 
the streets of Funchal, and introducing the use of rail-roads, 
by which the inhabitants might ascend and descend their 
steep mountain without the risk of breaking their necks 
riding on mules, as they do. But he appeared to be an 
enemy to innovation, and when I left him, I determined to 
propose that the people should appoint a committee to con- 
duct their own affairs: whether they will adopt my plans 
time will show, for I fear that I shall not remain long 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


91 


enough among them to renovate their island. I must re- 
serve my exertions for Mexico and South America in ge- 
neral, where I hope to introduce so many improvements, 
that the face of that great country will be totally changed 
ere many years elapse. What with new constitutions, new 
roads, gas-works, steam-engines, schools, and newspapers, 
I trust to introduce so much more happiness at a great 
deal cheaper rate than any happiness they have hitherto 
enjoyed, that life will be a blessing to them, instead of the 
contrary, which it must now be. 

“ Although I am extremely impatient to be at my post, 
yet I am inclined to be less so when I consider that I have 
been the means of placing your uncle and aunts in better 
circumstances than they were before. By this time I cal- 
culate that they must be in possession of their new reve- 
nue ; and if matters go on as prosperously as T expect they 
will in Mexico, I hope to realise so much wealth, that you, 
my dear child, as well as they, will be able to live in afflu- 
ence during the rest of your lives. This letter I wish to 
contain all that I have to say to them as well as to your- 
self ; and let me hope that after I have properly exerted 
myself for the benefit of mankind, I may return to you to 
give you my blessing before you settle in life, and which I 
now do from afar with all the affection and sincerity of 
your own father and friend, 

“ John Allnutt.” 

Mary was affected to tears at the perusal of this letter : 
her affection for her father w T as unbounded ; and although 
she was surrounded by those who loved her as parents and 
acted towards her as such, yet what is there that can stand 
in competition with a father’s love ) They sat long in dis- 
cussion upon the contents of the letter, for it brought John 
before them in every line and every circumstance which it 
contained. There he was, with his ardent and ill-regulated 
benevolence of character, sailing on the surface of the 
globe, making plans and sketching constitutions, as if upon 
himself alone had devolved the duty of civilizing a new 
world. Aunt Barbara, notwithstanding his repeated fail- 
ures in former schemes, still placed implicit confidence in 
his abilities; and now that she was in the actual en- 
joyment of one of his suggestions, which had produced 
an increase of revenue, she willingly lent herself to the 
hope that he was about to put into practice all that he 
promised, and that ere long he would return to Eng- 


92 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


land one of the wealthiest men of his time. Abel’s enthu- 
siasm did not run so high ; but he also, seeing how regu- 
larly the increased dividends on their funds were paid, w r as 
more confirmed in his opinion of John’s sagacity than he 
had ever been before. As for Fanny, she looked upon her 
absent brother as something greater than either Bona- 
parte, the Duke of W ellington, or the lord-lieutenant of the 
county, so highly did she appreciate the blessings of being 
able to wear cherry-coloured silk-gowns, and of being 
driven about by a coachman with a gold-laced hatband 
and gold-laced button-holes. 

They had scarcely finished the perusal of John’s letter 
when visitors were announced. Peeping from a corner, 
they perceived them to be Lord Demone and Simpleton 
Sharp, escorted by Mr. Woodby. In the twinkling of an 
eye, up ran Aunt Fanny into her bed-room to put on a more 
becoming dress, and away flew Barbara into the kitchen 
to prepare refreshments. 

Abel and Mary remained below to receive their guests ; 
which they did with appropriate speeches of welcome. Lord 
Demone was almost struck dumb by the dazzling beauty 
of Mary’s face and person, and the uncommon grace of 
her manner; Simpleton Sharp remarked with singular 
presence of mind, that the name of the cottage answered pre- 
cisely to its picturesque appearance ; and Woodby strutted 
about as a turkeycock is frequently seen to do in the pre- 
sence of minor fowls, as if he, personifying Belvedere Hall, 
that great mansion, was asserting its pre-eminence over 
the humble and diminutive Ivycote. Aunt Barbara very 
soon after came bustling in, with welcome and sandwiches 
beaming in her countenance ; and at length Fanny appeared 
in all the exuberance of dangling curls and streaming ri- 
bands. Aunt Fanny soon took possession of Demone as of 
a commodity peculiarly her own, (although he willingly 
would have continued to gaze upon the lovely Mary,) and 
invited him to take a walk over their grounds, for so she 
called an acre and a half of lawn and shrubbery. She 
directed his attention to the various points of view ; how 
he could see the parlour window of the house through one 
opening in the trees, — then how beautifully the kitchen 
chimney mantled with ivy peeped over a thick tuft of lau- 
rels ; and at length she brought him by slow degrees to 
their great lion, their most famous point, the parsonage- 
house, with the village-steeple peering over it, backed by 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


93 


the low range of the Huckaback Hills, whilst the light blue 
smoke from the blacksmith’s shop curled up in the midst. 
At each stoppage Aunt Fanny made a speech, to which 
Demone answered by the usual exclamations ; then taking 
him into the centre of the lawn, she said, “ And here I shall 
want you to give me your advice; — I ask it from every 
one of our friends, and I will ask it therefore of you. Do 
you advise us to plant this lawn in quidnuncs or not!” 

“In quidnuncs!” screamed Demone, scarcely able to 
suppress a burst of laughter. “ Oh no, by no means ! — 
root them out rather. No, no; never allow a quidnunc to 
take root, not even in your village, much less so near your 
house !” 

Fanny was surprised at this singular burst of hatred 
against what in her mind she conceived to be a very in- 
nocent mode of putting five trees together, and more par- 
ticularly at the merry manner in which that passion de- 
veloped itself in her companion. However, she said nothing 
more on the subject, but determined to treasure up Lord 
Demone’s opinion in order to bring it forward whenever 
the question should be brought under discussion in the 
family. She then led him to what in cottage grandiloquence 
she called the conservatory, consisting of an enclosure 
half green paint, half green glass, in which a few red pots 
were preserved, containing little half-inches of plants, with 
names tacked to them that would have puzzled Sanchonia- 
thon himself to explain. 

Having shown him all these things, they" returned to the 
house, where they found Aunt Barbara’s collation duly 
spread, and making a most striking contrast by the excel- 
lence and plenty of its materials to a similar meal on record 
as given at Belvedere Hall. 

“ Well,” said Fanny as soon as she entered the room, 
unable to retain her first resolution, “ do not you know 
that Lord Demone, is all against the quidnuncs : he says 
they won’t do.” 

“ Quincunx , Fanny,” said Abel in a suppressed tone of 
voice. 

“ Quincunx ox quidnuncs ” answered Fanny, “I suppose 
it’s all the same : but, in short, his lordship hates them so 
much that he would not allow one to be planted within 
fifty miles of the village.” 

“I do not like quidnuncs,” said Demone; “I won’t say 
as much for quincunx : I approve every thing which Miss 


94 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Fanny AUnutt approves, — there can be no appeal from her 
taste.” 

Fanny, losing sight of her ridiculous mistake in the glory 
of receiving so flattering a speech, felt a glow and a joy 
all over her person which gave her the vivacity of sixteen, 
and she bounded about with those large feet of hers in a 
manner that showed how much the nerves of the heart are 
connected with those of the lower extremities. Nothing 
could be more ludicrous than the scene which took place 
between these two individuals ; and Demone appeared 
willing to carry it on further, had he not been stopped by 
the dense Woodby, who had undertaken to give the his- 
tory of the three Miss Popkins, ladies of great wealth, the 
possessors of a fine modern house in the neighbourhood, 
and who consequently were the theme of speculation 
throughout the country. 

“These Miss Popkins,” said Woodby with great em- 
phasis, “ were coheiresses — that is to say, they cannot be 
called coheiresses because there are three of them ; how- 
ever for shortness, sake we will call them such. They in- 
herited from their father after they had lost their mother, 
who was herself a coheiress with her brother, a rich mer- 
chant at Liverpool, who is looked upon as their uncle, 
which indeed he is on their mother’s side. They are the 
sole possessors of his wealth — that is to say, divided into 
three equal parts, of which by far the largest, if I may so 
say, will be that of the youngest Miss Charlotte Popkin, 
who is not yet of age, and who, by the bye, I have my eye 
upon for my son Tom; and, let me add, I have recom- 
mended Fidward Manby to make himself agreeable to the 
two elder ones, for he might marry one or either of them 
— at least he shall have all my influence, poor fellow, — and 
that is not small, let me tell you, for after all Belvedere 
Hall tells in this part of the country ; don’t you think so, 
Miss Barbara 1” said he, abrubtly addressing that lady, 
and who was at that moment planning a new plate of 
sandwiches. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Barbara, very civilly'; “ what 
did you say!” 

“ I was saying,” said Woodby, “ that Belvedere Hall, 
without flattery I may say now, tells in this part of the 
country, particularly now with its new lodges.” 

“ Indeed it does,” said Bab, most emphatically: “ it is 
seen at least for two miles off from the back of our church, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


95 


and looks remarkably pretty. The lodges, it must be 
owned, are a great addition — I think you can’t have too 
many of them.” 

Woodby, forgetting his original idea in the all-engross- 
ing subject of his lodges, which had unintentionally been 
grafted upon it by Aunt Barbara, proceeded in his usual 
manner to dilate and remark and exult thereupon ; and 
he would have comprehended the double shields contain- 
ing the Goold and the Woodby arms, had he not been 
stopped by the presence of Lord Demone, who, the mo- 
ment he ventured to touch upon that point, attacked him 
with so much humour upon the new version which he had 
given to the motto before alluded to, and threw the whole 
thing into such utter ridicule, that Woodby never more 
ventured in his presence to say a word upon it. 

And it was remarkable how strong an effect the ap- 
proach to the subject by Mr. Woodby produced on all 
those who had heard him speak upon it before. Immedi- 
ately symptoms of impatience broke out — the averted look, 
the shuffling feet, the suppressed yawrn, all indicated the 
impending calamity: and, on this occasion, where the very 
walls of Ivycote were impregnated with Mr. Woodby’s 
long stories, the result produced was a termination of the 
visit. Lord Demone, taking a last look at Mary, made his 
bow. Simpleton Sharp, who had been concerting a joke 
during the whole visit, at length unbosomed himself by 
saying, “ The next coat I have, it shall be green, for then 
it will put me in mind of Ivycote.” He waited to watch 
the result of this effort of his genius ; but finding it had 
fallen to the ground, he followed his friend, after making 
many fair speeches, and wqs at length overtaken by Wood- 
by, who would not allow Aunt Barbara to escape without 
explaining why it was not suitable, and why it was out of 
all architectural rule that there should be more than two 
lodges at any entrance, although sometimes people were 
mean enough to place only one, as Lord Thorofield for 
instance. 


96 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


The dullness of the country relieved by intelligence from the 
world of folly and dissipation. 

Belvedere Hall, in due course of time, was cleared of 
its visiters. Lady Thomson’s visit had passed off much to 
her satisfaction, although she had not been able to bring 
Anne Woodby’s marriage to a happy conclusion with Lord 
Demone. Whether he had been smitten by the superior 
charms of Mary, or whether Anne still cherished a tender 
feeling for Captain Swaggle, or whether — which, perhaps, 
was most probable — Mr. Woodby was averse to coming 
down with a sum sufficiently alluring to the needy peer, it 
were useless at present to discuss ; but true it is, Demone 
took his departure without making any proposal, and Lady 
Thomson returned to Cheltenham, whilst the Woodbys at 
proper time and season exhihited themselves in London 
and at the watering-places. 

Belvedere Hall remained deserted during the winter and 
spring; but as the summer approached, all the anticipations 
of the fancy bazaar and ball which had been so long pro- 
mised broke out again in the country, and the neighbour- 
hood became anxious for the return of the wealthy owners 
of that mansion. 

The inhabitants of Ivycote passed the winter months 
in their usual retirement, anticipating a happier summer 
than the preceding one, grateful to Providence for all the 
blessings which they enjoyed, and dispensing those bless- 
ings to the utmost of their power to their poorer neigh- 
bours. They too began to count the days when Belvedere 
Hall would again be inhabited, for they longed to have an 
opportunity to afford the gentle Mary some of those gaieties 
to which they thought she was entitled at her age, but in 
default of which, such was the excellence and rational cast 
of her nature, she neither repined nor expressed herself 
impatient. One morning in the beginning of March, 
whilst they were at breakfast, the postman delivered a let- 
ter directed to Aunt Barbara, bearing upon it the Brighton 
post-mark, and which was discovered to come from Mrs. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 97 

r 

Woodby by the cramped writing on the, address. She 
immediately read it out as follows : 

“My dear Friend, 

“ This is to hope that you are all well, that your winter 
cough has been mild, and that Mr. Abel is well of his weak 
chest, as we are at present, thank God. We have been enjoy- 
ing the breezes here, as they call them, which at present are 
blowing a hurricane and smashing all our windows one 
after the other; which is a pity, since we see the king and 
queen from out of them every day, taking a drive in their 
cpach-and-four and their outriders. We take our hats off 
and make curtsies to their majesties at least twenty times 
every day, which is a great privilege ; and Mr. Woodby 
says it is right to show one’s loyalty, and he thinks that 
he is likely to be a great favourite at court, for the king 
took his hat off to him; and who knows! he expects to 
get a title — to go down on his knees for a knight: but not 
a word of that, my dear friend, for that is a secret, — and 
so is what I’m going to tell you, for you must not let it out 
in the village, whatever you do. You must know, that 
every body knows that we are to have our fancy bazaar 
and ball in the summer ; and we have been desired to get 
up something nouvelle , as we say in French, and not one 
of your humdrum things. Now, my girls and I are of opi- 
nion that we ought to draw out the charity-school boys 
and girls to make a show on the lawn when the company 
comes : but the thing is, what shall we do with them !— 
Mr. Dodd, a gentleman here, thinks the boys might all be 
dressed as sailors, and the girls as their wives: but that, 
you know, would be low, and some think improper. Now, 
we have agreed otherwise: Mr. Simpleton Sharp, who is 
here, has told us that there is nothing so genteel as Roman 
gods and goddesses ; and we want you, please, to tell Mrs. 
Humphries the schoolmistress, that she is to be Juno or Ve- 
nus, whichever she likes; and Tim Merriday the school- 
master, he is to be Jupiter. The boys will be Cupids, and 
the girls Psyches: that, you know, is just in character. 
The boys might have wings tacked on to their jackets just 
behind their shoulders, each with a bow and arrow in 
hand; and there you have your Cupids. The girl’s wings 
might be stitched on behind their ears on their caps ; and 
there you have your Psyches. Mrs. Humphries, if she be 
Juno, may have a tiara and a half-moon on her head, and the 
Vol. u — 9 


98 


ABEL ALLNtfTT. 


peacock close to her —for that is the way Mr. Simpleton 
Sharp and the learned represent the queen of the gods: 
and Merridy, to look like Jupiter, should have a wig over 
his own hair, which, Mr. Simpleton Sharp says, are called 
ambrosial curls,— and he might carry a set of fire irons in 
his hand for his thunderbolts. He ought to have an eagle 
beside him; but for want of that let him get one of the 
largest turkey-cocks in the yard, for they do look something 
like an eagle, and then he would be complete. — Now pray, 
dear Miss Barbara, do help us. We can get the Cupid 
and Psyche’s wings made up here at about fourpence a- 
pair, and we will also get the tiara and half-moon; but let 
Merriday practise the boys and Mrs. Humphries the girls : 
they may walk in a row backwards and forwards every 
day on the lawn with the peacock and turkey-cock behind 
them, and be taught pretty manners, such as Cupids and 
Psyches no doubt have. . But not a word of it in the vil- 
lage — pray mind that, for the whole thing is to be a sur- 
prise to the company. My daughters and Mr. Woodby 
send their love. So no more at present from your sincere 
friend, 

“Anne Goold Woodbv. 

“ P. S. Tell Merriday, please, that he may twist some 
flax into long curls, and so make a wig: or if he likes to 
be Vulcan instead of Jupiter, (for Vulcan, you know, was 
Venus’s husband, — that is, if Mrs. Humphries chooses Ve- 
nus instead,) he may; and then, instead of the fire-irons, 
he may carry a sledge-hammer, — for Vulcan, I am credit- 
ably informed, was a blacksmith.” 

Inclosed within this letter was another from Miss Wood- 
by to Aunt Fanny, which the reader will perhaps like to 
be laid before him, and which ran as follows : 

“ Dear Miss Fanny, 

“ I write in bed, for I have just done dancing at a ball, 
and take this opportunity of writing a few lines to tell you 
how we are going on in this gay place, and to make your 
mouth water about this ball that we went to last night, at 
a place called the Ship, — although it was not a ship, you 
know, but a hotel. It was called the Master of Ceremo- 
nies’ Ball, although there was no ceremony about it that I 
could see, for the people all crowded in one after the other 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


99 


as if they did not care a farthing how they got in provided 
they got in first, and pushed each other about like so many 
sheep in a pen. It was very good fun, however, for all 
that; for mamma, in getting through a door, nearly had 
one of her sleeves dragged off; somebody trod upon papa’s 
foot, which he did not like; and as for Ellen, she was lost 
full ten minutes before we could find her again. The room 
was full of marchionesses, duchesses, and great people, 
and one of those sort of ladies called a ‘patroness’ was 
there; but, la! you never saw such a dowdy thing in your 
life! She was nothing near so smart as Lady Thomson 
usually is ; indeed, I was much finer than she was, for the 
matter of that : but Lady Thomson would have beat her 
and every other lady that I saw out and out again. And 
as for your marchionesses, they are poor creatures with 
about as much spirit in them as a mouse. There was one 
standing in the doorway, and I thought I had as much 
right to stand there as she had, for we all paid alike, so I 
pushed by her ; when she turned round and said, ‘ I beg 
your pardon, I am afraid I am in your way,’ and she let 
me pass without shoving me again : now isn’t that mean- 
spirited of her 1 But oh, my dear friend, who do you think 
I saw in the crowd in full uniform'! — but I won’t tell you, 
although perhaps you may guess: all I can say is, jthat it 
was not Lord Demone, odious creature as he is, — but he 
certainly looked very handsome, that is the truth of it. He 
had let his hair grow right over his chin, and he had alto- 
gether such an air, that when we danced together all the 
room was looking at us, — and I am quite certain that the 
patroness I mentioned before was downright jealous of me. 
He told me that his regiment was doing duty here, and 
that he would certainly come and see us in his undress, 
which becomes him very much. You are, I dare say, 
dying to know who he is ; but all I can say at present is, 
that his name begins with S. I wish I could invite him to 
our fancy ball, that is to be; but I am afraid of mamma, 
who wouldn’t even allow poor Edward Manby to be in- 
vited — but papa insisted upon it, and so did Tom, and so 
she could not refuse. But I quite forgot to say what I 
principally wrote about ; which is, that the stall that Ellen 
and I are to preside over at the bazaar is to be called the 
Beauty Stall ; and as it is the fashion to think your niece, 
Miss Mary, handsome, mamma begs me to ask you to al- 
low her to assist in selling: there will be Charlotte Pop- 


ioo 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


kin in addition, who, you know, we are thinking of for 
Tom, and she will make up our party. And mamma says, 
if you will have the goodness to preside over the next 
stall, for ours will be full, you shall have the two other Miss 
Popkins for your partners. Pray write an answer to this 
for when we can find time in this busy, rackety place, we 
can think of nothing else than our bazaar. With which 
I remain, my dear Miss Fanny, 

“ Your affectionate friend, 

“ Anne Woodby. 

“P. S. Pray don’t tell any body that we call our stall the 
Beauty Stall, because they would think us conceited, you 
know ; which is a great fault. And, believe me, I asked 
for you, for I did not think you a bit too old, and you know 
you have been very handsome; but every body said it 
would spoil the look of our stall ; — so, you know, it w T as 
none of my fault. I hope you are hard at work for us : 
indeed, our principal hope for things, and pincushions, and 
rugs, and pen-wipers, and so on, is from your house. We 
shall have the selling of Edward Manby’s drawings — 
'yyhich is some comfort.” 

The perusal of these letters, as may be imagined, gave 
a new turn to the monotony of life and ideas which ex- 
isted at Ivycote, and produced a discussion upon their con- 
tents and upon their writers which afforded matter for sub- 
sequent conversation until the return of the Woodbys to 
Belvedere. Aunt Barbara, who was purely a matter-of- 
fact person, w T hose thoughts never extended beyond the 
cares of her own family and her own village, who was ac- 
customed to look after the necessities of the poor in the 
true spirit of charity — that is, rationally, and without the 
excitement of false sentiment and mawkish sensibility, — 
was as much astonished by Mrs. Woodby’s intention of 
turning charity-children into playthings, as she would have 
been averse to making them objects of romantic affection. 
She had never looked upon them in the mythological point 
of view in which they were now presented before her, 
much less could she ever have imagined it possible that 
the schoolmaster and mistress could ever have been turned 
into the representatives of Jupiter and Juno. She, there- 
fore, upon the first blush of the question, very decidedly op- 
posed herself to the proposed scheme, and, in her charac- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


101 


teristic mode of argument, exclaimed, “ that it stood to 
reason, and she was sure that she was right ; that if the 
boys once began to think themselves Cupids, and the girls 
Psyches, there would be an end to all discipline among 
them. The object of their education would thus be de- 
feated; for,” she contended, “how would it be possible to 
persuade Cupids to become carpenters and labouring men? 
and still more how difficult to turn Psyches into house- 
maids !” 

Uncle Abel, on the other hand, who always pleaded on 
the good-natured side of the question endeavoured to divert 
his sister’s opposition by saying, “ that this circumstance 
of the fete, perhaps, would only occur once, and that the 
impression it would leave upon the children’s mind could 
only be transient; whilst the relaxation which it would 
afford them, their parents, and . the whole neighbourhood, 
would produce a wholesome feeling by drawing the rich and 
the poor more closely together, and thus establish mutual 
good-will. That the charity-boys could no more under- 
stand what was meant by their being Cupids than the girls 
by their being Psyches ; and that as for Mrs. Humphries and 
Merriday, their authority would only be strengthened by 
being elevated to such high dignities,” 

Aunt Fanny took no share in the discussion, for her 
mind was entirely absorbed by the contents of Miss Wood- 
by’s postscript. It has frequently been remarked, that one 
of the most fatal gifts that can be given by Nature to wo- 
man is beauty, unless it be accompanied by a sound un- 
derstanding. Poor Fanny had been endowed with the 
first, but the reader need not be informed that she was de- 
ficient in the second. She had been beautiful, she had been 
much admired, and ranked among the beauties of the 
county ; her short-sighted mind never told her that such a 
gift was transient and would soon pass away ; she had re- 
jected many an offer of marriage, and here she was still 
Miss Fanny Allnutt, the rejected of the Miss Woodbys 
and their ‘ Beauty Stall.’ Her first impulse on reading the 
offensive hint that she was old, was to be angry — very 
angry ; but possessing, as she did, all the meekness, the kind- 
heartedness, and the forgiving disposition which were the 
characteristics of her name and family, her secondary feel- 
ing was to sit down mortified, it is true, but resigned. As 
she retired to her bed-room to meditate over the contents 
of the letter, she could not help taking one long, anxious, 
scrutinising look at her face and form in the looking-glass., 

9 * 


102 


AfiEL ALLnUTT, 


as if she were determined to try herself before that uncorn-' 
promising judge. She first peered straight into her eyes— 
examined those tell-tale wrinkles at the corners, which, di- 
verging into angular lines* were ruled with the precision 
of an almanack — and then inspected those circular pouches 
underneath, which contained the register of many a passing 
year. She found hernose firm and untouched : but as she pro- 
ceeded to survey her mouth, she started such a covey of 
little crooked figures, zigzags, crosses and re-crosses, that 
she became alarmed, and she would willingly have im- 
posed them upon herself as dimples, had they not been too 
numerous to connive at such a fraud. Her cheeks being 
streaked with colour and the enamel of her teeth still fresh, 
she became a little restored to good spirits by their ap- 
pearance, and she was proceeding with a light heart to the 
inspection of her hair, when a grey lock, full of evil inten- 
tions protruded itself with so conclusive an evidence against 
her that she almost fainted at the sight. But still, not dis- 
couraged, taking a more distant survey of her tout ensem- 
ble , she found her figure still so good, that at length, with 
a deep-drawm sigh, she exclaimed, “I’m not so bad after 
all.” Still those fatal words ‘ too old’ haunted her eye- 
sight and her brain as if they had been stereotyped upon 
them, and she found her philosophy too w r eak to bear up 
against the obstinate truth. She continued fixed before 
her glass for some time, looking, and smiling, and smirk- 
ing, as if she could recall from its very depths those years 
which had so soon gone by, and which had taken with them 
all that beauty, the recollection of which was now T the sub- 
ject of her misery. ‘‘ At all events,” she at length exclaim- 
ed by way of soothing her mortified mind, — “ At all events, 
I am better than either of the Miss Popkins — nobody shall 
say nay to that and then turning her glass back from 
her, she fled from her room and returned to the parlour. 


AML ALLNUTT. 


103 


CHAPTER XV, 


In modern ethics, ‘a fancy bazaar and ball ’ are added to 
the several gifts of charity. 

It is the peculiar privilege of this species of writing to 
enjoy an entire command over time and space, whereby 
people and places are brought together and dispersed again 
as easily as a child puts together a geographical puzzle, 
and then breaks it up and packs it into its box. The Goold 
Woodby family, after having been absent from Belvedere 
Hall for about six months, returned to it again, renewed in 
their vanity by having mixed with the heartless world, ex- 
ercised in envy by aspiring at the possession of things which 
they could not attain, and indulging in long draughts of 
hatred against persons at whose hands they had received 
mortifications. They resumed their position in the coun- 
try with increased feelings of arrogance and higher ideas 
of their own importance ; for in vulgar minds the reaction 
which takes place after a mortification is not towards 
humility, but towards the contrary, as Fag in the play, 
after having been reviled and pushed aside by his master, 
vents his spleen by kicking the errand-boy. 

The day was now fast approaching upon which the 
long-talked-of fancy bazaar and ball were to take place, 
and Mrs. and the Miss Goold Woodby’s had returned 
from Brighton "and London, laden with all sorts of things 
fitted to promote the object of the festival. Their first step 
was to issue their cards of invitation — called, we believe, 
in stationers’ language, elephant cards, on account of their 
great size, — on which was inscribed the usual formula of 
words for a ball, but which made a fancy dress an indis- 
pensable requisite to the acceptance of the invitation. 
These cards were accompanied by tickets of admission to 
the bazaar, which served as hints that there was charity 
as well as amusement contemplated in the invitation. 
They were sent far and wide all over the country, and 
great were the expectations raised. Musicians, cooks 
and confectioners, and all the concomitants of a fete, were 
to come from appropriate distances in order to enhance its 


104 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


merit and the self-devotion of those who gave it ; and the 
ingenuity of every tailor and milliner around was taxed 
to invent dresses and ornamental costumes. 

The bazaar was to take place on the lawn which sur- 
rounded the house ; and here tents of various sizes and 
denominations were pitched, in which the wares were to 
be displayed. We will not pause to describe the various 
difficulties which, took place during the progress of the ar- 
rangements, principally produced by the little experience 
which the givers of the entertainment had acquired in such 
matters; for they had read of such things in newspapers, 
but had never seen them practised. Mrs. Woodby had 
her ideas, Mr. Woodby his, and young ladies theirs. Mrs. 
Woodby’s ideas of “ doing the thing handsome” were at 
variance with those of her daughters, and in some mea- 
sure with those of her husband, but they all agreed in the 
one resolution, “ that the thing was to be done hand- 
somely.” This discordance produced a course of much 
wrangling and discussion. What the mother deemed 
sufficiently good, the daughters disapproved ; and the 
mezzo-termine proposed by the father was pronounced 
vulgar. The young ladies longed for the advice of Lady 
Thomson, whose word on such occasions was with them 
law ; but the father and mother, who dreaded the expense 
which she would have authorised, were secretly pleased at 
her absence- 

Anne and Ellen had heard enough upon the subject of 
giving parties during their attempts at fashionable talk at 
Brighton, with the Captain S waggles and Captain Boba- 
dils of their acquaintance, to impress them with the con- 
viction that every sort of costly fare, called luxuries of the 
season, was as positively necessary to a ball as fiddles. 
A hot disquisition upon wine, led to a controversy upon 
ices, which branched out into a debate upon jellies, soups, 
and French pasties, and continued upon the subjects of 
decorations and illuminations, until both Mr. and Mrs. 
Woodby began to groan under the torment which they 
had inflicted upon themselves, and bemoaned their hard 
fate that they should ever have been betrayed into com- 
mitting so great a folly as giving a great ball. But the 
principal controversy was upon the subject of the invita- 
tions. Some opined for one person, others for another ; 
some were to be rejected for one foolish reason, others to 
be invited for one equally absurd. The Talkingtons of 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


105 


Chute House were not to be invited, because they had 
been heard to say that Mr. Woodby’s new lodges were 
like two sentry-boxes ; — then the Evelyns of Adamston 
were to be got at and invited because they were a more 
ancient family than the Thorofields, as a matter of spite to 
rivals in riches. The Algoods of Badington were rejected 
upon their principles, which did not approve of fancy ba- 
zars, and charity which did not stand upon some stronger 
basis than the “ light fantastic toe whilst the Alcocks of 
Henbury were asked because the Miss Alcocks could 
dance the fashionable dances, the objects of the charity 
were frequently lost sight of in the excitement produced 
by the ball ; whilst the interests of the ball were insidi- 
ously advocated as those of the charity. In the mean 
while, however, the quantity of packages inclosing the 
fruits of the labour of the charitable neighbourhood was 
immense. The results of the examination were curious 
and worthy of historical record, as illustrative of national 
taste and character in the nineteenth century. The prin- 
cipal articles produced consisted of pin-cushions, pen- wipers, 
kettle-holders, rugs of various sizes, carpet-shoes, and 
embroidered bags, all characteristic of neatness and snug- 
ness. Then as specimens of vanity were produced em- 
broidery in its various shapes, articles of dress, and frip- 
peries of all sorts. The arts were represented by little 
abortive drawings in crayons and water-colour, with the 
exception of Edward Manby’s productions. — Half-a-dozen 
scratches by the talented Miss Jenkins were put down at 
a great price, because being unintelligible, they were called 
spirited ; and that amiable young man Mr. Simpson had 
been prevailed upon to bestow some of his inimitable 
sketches from nature, in one of which a. stick resting 
against a barn-door had been portrayed with wonderful 
fidelity, — and they were also called drawings of great 
price. But of all those who had laboured in the cause of 
charity, the inhabitants of Ivycote shone conspicuous : they 
had employed themselves in manufacturing things really 
useful, (Aunt Fanny excepted, who would be genteel) and 
their donation was a blessing to the poor. Aunt Barbara 
had taken the flannel department under her peculiar man- 
agement, whence issued petticoats and waist-coats in 
abundance ; whilst Mary had made caps for the children, 
and gowns for the old women. To form a catalogue of 
the various things sent to be disposed of, would require a 


106 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


larger portion of our paper than we are willing to bestow ; 
therefore we beg the reader to bear in mind that, with 
some exceptions, if he can think of any one thing more 
useless and less called for in the common affairs of life 
than another, he would have been sure to find it there. 

A day before the fete took place, we are happy to be 
able to announce the arrival of Lady Thomson, whose 
advice upon the general arrangement had been looked 
upon as indispensable, and who was expected to arrive 
from Cheltenham with some exquisite specimens of her 
work. We will suppress all her criticisms, the numerous 
changes which she insisted upon making, and the tyran- 
ny which she exercised in advising Mrs. Woodby to act 
against her own plans, and proceed at once to the open- 
ing of certain baskets in which were contained those ex- 
quisite nominal specimens of her own work. She exhi- 
bited some very handsome articles of embroidery, which 
she took care to say were her own, but of which in truth 
she had merely worked a few stitches ; after they had been 
properly admired, she drew forth a parcel, and prefacing 
its appearance with a speech from Lord Demone, who 
professed himself sorry at his inability to attend, she 
added that he had sent his present to be consecrated to 
the interests of the charity. Every one was anxious to 
inspect it ; but when it was broken open, mortification was 
expressed in all sorts of deprecating speeches. 

“La!” said Mrs. Woodby; “ it is nothing but a set of 
newspapers !” 

“ What can he send us the ‘ Fashionable Advertiser’ 
for ?” said Anne. 

“It is one of his jokes, I suppose,” said Mr. Woodby ; 
“ but he is a poor hand at that, after all !” 

Lady Thomson reddened with indignation when she 
heard these words. “ I tell you what,” she said ; « this 
newspaper, as you call it, will make the fortune of your 
bazaar. If your bumpkins have no relish for wit, I can’t 
give it to them ; but if they have a spark of it, they will 
be quarrelling to buy these sheets at any price.” 

“Will they indeed?” said Mrs. Woodby: “do, pray, let 
us read it.” 

“Let me tell you,” continued Lady Thomson, “that you 
are not half sufficiently aware of Lord Demone’s merits. 
It’s a downright Sin not to laugh at every thing he says ; 
nnd if you have the least pretension to fashion, you ought 


AfiEL ALLNUTT. 


107 


to be on the broad grin if you even knew him to be in 
the county: how much more, then, if he were in the 
room !” 

“ Do, pray, let us read,” reiterated Mrs. Woodby, se- 
conded by her daughter. Upon which Lady Thomson, 
assisted by Anne and Ellen, undertook to unfold its con- 
tents, and read as follows; whilst Mr. and Mrs. Woodby, 
in spite of their better inclination, preserved a gravity of 
aspect which showed how totally the powers of sarcasm 
were thrown away upon them. 


THE FASHIONABLE ADVERTISER OR COURT 
REPOSITORY. 

[No. L London, April 1, 1835. Price 5s.] 

The Opera . — Samuel Shift has the honour to inform the 
nobility and gentry, and the public at large, that this 
splendid establishment will open for the ensuing season 
with an eclat unequalled in former years ; and that, in ad- 
dition to the first talent in Europe, he has procured at 
great expense the first singer from the Court of the Em- 
peror of China, and some of the most powerful bass 
voices ever heard from Patagonia. He is happy to be 
able to announce the arrival of the celebrated howling 
dervishes from Constantinople, who will perform their 
grand fanatical choruses for the first time in Christendom, 
and that he has engaged that famous professor of the 
Turkish drum, Alladin, whose solos on that instrument 
are unrivalled. 

He has however determined to devote one night of the 
week to representations adapted to the tastes of those who 
resort to the metropolis from the country in order to enjoy 
the pleasures of the season ; and to that effect the Italian 
artists have kindly undertaken to devote their powers to 
singing the most popular English songs and ballads, and 
other portions of our national music ; and in the ballet, 
out of regard to the feelings of the timid and unpractised, 
the lady performers have been prevailed upon to dance in 
flannel, and the gentlemen in drab cloth trousers and 
gaiters. — Particulars at the Office, and of all Booksellers 
of the United Kingdom. 

Wanted , a Footman.— He must be a man of active ha- 


108 


ABEL ALLNtfTT. 


bits ; for in addition to his usual business he will be re* 
quired to run about with notes all day and sit up all night, 
and he must know the Court Guide by heart. — Apply at 
No. 1, Gower-street. 

Wanted , a Pair of Job Horses. — They must be prime 
Jobs, that . know their work well. They are wanted for 
light work about town, to start after breakfast with a 
steady, well-regulated family, to go the usual fashionable 
rounds as practised on coming from the country ; that is, 
to the Exhibition at Somerset-house, the Panorama in Lei- 
cester-square, the Tunnel at Rotherhithe, the India Docks, 
the Diorama in Regent’s Park, before luncheon: then to the 
rehearsal of Ancient Music, and Howell and James’s, and 
all the principal shops before the Park ; then the Park till 
dinner; to be ready and fresh at nine o’clock to go to the 
Opera, then to three parties at least, and to finish with the 
usual ball, so as to be back at home by sun-rise. Inquire 
of A. Z. at Long’s. 

Found on a Sofa at Alma elds. — A Reticule, enclosing a 
lady’s reputation. All the letters and notes have been 
carefully read and examined, and their contents, containing 
the most interesting disclosures, will be most conscientious- 
ly divulged. Any body sending for the same No. 1 , Squib’s 
Alley, letters post paid, with proper testimonials, will be at- 
tended to. 

Chaperons. — Several old well-seasoned Chaperons on 
hire. They are warranted to sit all night in one place 
without stirring — of course a higher rate of pay will be 
expected for those who can sleep standing. A few extra 
ones for water-parties may be had, who are not sick in a 
boat, and who can eat drumsticks. — Apply No. 70, Mon- 
mouth-street. 

Charades. — The elegant Mrs. X being about to open 
her house with a course of humorous Charades, a premium 
is here offered for genuine puns, and for some good words 
with triplicate meanings. It is requested that those who 
are invited to this refined amusement will come with a de- 
termination to laugh. 

Amateur Concert. — Mrs. Crotchet will give her first 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


109 


Concert to-morrow night. Those who come for talking’s 
sake are requested to wait for the choruses and the crashes : 
they are particularly desired to respect the solos. 

Mr. Jeer all, Professor of Undefined Asseverations, com- 
monly known under the name of White Lies, has the ho- 
nour to inform the fashionable world, that having made the 
most profound study of his art, he is enabled successfully 
to adapt it to all the various purposes of life. Truth, phi- 
losophically speaking, being but a series of relative asser- 
tions, he can adapt his mode of treating it to the most ten- 
der consciences, so as to enable its owners to pass through 
the world with comfort to themselves, acquiring the re- 
spect and esteem of others. He has exalted the art of 
writing notes, from the simplest to the most abstruse sub- 
jects to the rank of a science. He will write a note of in- 
vitation with so much skill, that whether it be intended to 
prevent acceptance, or the contrary, he secures a certain 
result. He furnishes unexceptionable excuses for all the 
various occasions and difficulties incident to fashionable 
life, particularly when some pleasure greater than one ac- 
cepted has happened to supervene. 

He keeps a morning academy for footmen and porters, 
teaching them all the most approved methods of denying 
their masters and mistresses, giving them tact in distin- 
guishing persons — the bore from the agreeable man, the 
dun from the rich uncle, and the country cousin from the 
park beau. In short, he requests only to be tried, and he 
will warrant himself as being the most useful of pro- 
fessors, teaching the most useful of arts, and superior to all 
others for advancement in the world. Direct Flam-street, 
opposite the Lying-in-Hospital. 

Provident Love Insurance Office. 

The object of this Society being new, we are sure it 
will powerfully attract the attention of the thinking pub- 
lic. It insures against Love, and its ill effects upon the 
human frame. 

Premiums will depend upon the constitution, character, 
and age of the person insuring. 

To those who bring certificates of ill-temper, a great 
abatement of premium is made. The ugly and old may 
insure literally for nothing. 

Vol. I.— 10 


110 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Directors : 


Lord D’Ugly, Chairman. 
Black Bilo, Esq., Deputy Chair. 


J. Badger, Esq. 
Ph. Crabb, Esq. 


W. Thumper, Esq. 


S. Cuttilove, Esq. 


A. Killerman, Esq. 
Rob. Cursoe, Esq. 
A. Boxer, Esq. 

Ph. Q,uarl, Esq. 


Consulting Physician : 

Ad. Heartease, M.D., Love-lane, 


WANT PLACES. 


As companion to a Lady . — A lady of undoubted capabi- 
lities for swallowing. Warranted to have the largest 
gullet in England. Never contradicts. — Is fond of salt 
soup. 

As Coachman.— A. gentleman, educated at college. Can 
have undeniable recommendations from his last place. 
Would prefer driving a Brighton coach. Pays for all frac- 
tures of limbs, — has never upset more than two coaches in 
his life. Inquire at Whippy the Saddler’s. 

As Treasurer . — A gentleman, who has run through two 
fortunes, would wish to become treasurer to some charity, 
feeling himself now to understand the value of money. 

As Titor . — A gentleman, brought up at a public school, 
and a graduate at one of the Universities, wishes to under- 
take the charge of one or two, or more pupils. Is a 
thorough professor of slang in all its branches ; teaches 
the art of betting, with an entire knowledge of calculating 
the odds ; is well versed in horse-flesh ; and bein£ a pro- 
fessed sportsman, is admirably calculated ‘to teach the 
young idea how to shoot.’ Smokes, and is safe at the 
gambling-table. 

Wanted a Prime Bore . — The advertiser being afflicted 
with insomnolency, having in vain tried hop-pillows, es- 
sence of salad, laudanum, and crude opium, is anxious to 
try the effects of a bore. He must be a thorough bore ; 
relating stories which never end, with all the proper di- 
gressions, repetitions, and want of point, with due mono- 
tony of voice and unchangeableness of aspect. He must 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Ill 


be thorough master of the histories of elections, parish 
meetings, vestry and grand jury meetings ; able to discuss 
the poor-law question, and not unskilled in detailing all the 
vicissitudes of a fox-hunt. Apply to X. Y., next door to 
the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly. 

NEW WORKS JUST READY. 

The Art of Dancing without an Ear. Cuts. 

Specimens of Table Talk, or How to be Witty without 
Wit. By Bell Clapper, Esq. 

“ Full of novel ideas.” — Toiler . 

Travels in the Back Settlements of London ; with a topo- 
graphical account of Tavistock and Torrington Squares. 
By E. Boyle, Esq., E.C.G Author of Court Guide, &c. 

“ Great research — uncommon enterprise.” — Examiner. 

Tales of a Cut-throat, 3 vols. By the Author of Kill Him 
and Eat Him. 

“ Great feeling and pathos.” — Spectator. 

My neighbour’s Wife; a Novel. 3 vols. By the Author 
of Paul Pry. 

“A striking story — full of curious incidents — deep passion — some 
capital hints .” — Domestic Review. 


To Novel Writers . — For sale, a large assortment of Ske- 
leton Novels, upon all subjects, from the gossipy fashion- 
able to the coarsely vulgar. Also several very interesting 
Plots to be disposed of, warranted possible ; one, which 
' may be had at an extra price, warranted probable. Inquire 
at the Manufactory, New Road. 


“ Well, I declare !” said Mrs. Woodby, after it had been 
read, having unsuccessfully tried to laugh during the ope- 
ration ; “ I dare say it is very clever, but it is only a news- 
paper after all — it is just what one reads every day in the 
advertisements, and I think that Mr. Jeerall must be a very 
useful man — I should like to get some lessons myself about 
writing notes.” 

“ I dare say papa could afford us a box at the Opera,” said 
Anne, “ and I dare say Lord Demone could say a word 
for us to Mr. Shift, — now wouldn’t he, Lady Thomson 1” 

“ I wish,” thought Ellen, “ that I could get one of those 
plots for a novel : its only that which I want to enable me 
to write one.” 

“ That Love Insurance Office,” exclaimed Mr. Woodby, 
“ appears but a poor concern — that sort of thing will never 


112 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


do. I dare say it is only a hoax — I never heard of one of 
the directors’ names before.” 

“ What a pack of fools !” sighed out Lady Thomson in 
an under breath. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Showing how a thing good in itself may he rendered utterly 
ridiculous. 

At length the day came, and the morning dawned with 
great beauty at Belvedere Hall. The bells of the village 
church rang a merry peal ; all the villagers were dressed 
in their best clothes ; and almost before the sun had risen, 
the children of the charity school were arrayed in their 
fancy costume preparatory to being exhibited. Every 
thing had been arranged for the sale on the day before, 
and at noon the iron gates which connected Mr. Wood- 
by’s lodges were thrown open to receive the visitors. 
About that time equipages of all denominations began to 
drop in ; and before two o’clock had struck, the lawn was 
thronged by a very considerable number of people. The 
great and the wealthy came in state — all made the best 
display which their means could afford ; and we need not 
add, that on such an occasion as this, the gold-laced hat 
and button-holes had not been forgotten, when honest 
Brown appeared driving the pony-chaise in which the 
good family from Ivycote made its appearance. 

Although the lawn which surrounded the house was 
flat, and although the grounds presented but little pic- 
turesque beauty, yet still, wherever there is sunshine and 
verdure, and trees, and an assembage dressed in brilliant 
colours, more is not wanting to produce a pleasing and 
cheerful picture. The white tents pitched under the trees 
contrasting with the various tints of green, and with the beds 
of flowers, which no cockneyism could rob of their rich and 
gorgeou s colouring, added greatly to the general effect. T he 
numbers of people constantly flocking around the stalls gave 
the whole scene a character of animation without which no 
fete can succeed; and when Mrs. Goold Woodby was con- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


113 


gratulated upon the beauty of the weather, which she took 
as a personal compliment, and, the excellent management 
displayed in her arrangements, her head was so turned 
with delight, that she became almost independent of the 
question which she had so long allowed to tyrannise over 
her, namely, “What will Lady Thomson think]” 

Lady Thomson, with protection in her looks and with 
satin over her substantial person, was one of the most con- 
spicuous among the company, and took upon herself to do 
the honours, seeing that the whole thing wore every ap- 
pearance of being successful. Aunt Barbara’s new gray 
gown and Fanny’s cherry colour again did good service, 
and Mary’s beauty was the theme of every tongue. The 
Miss Woodbys looked divine in dresses exactly similar; 
whilst the Miss Popkins did credit by their rich attire 
to the wealth of which they were the heiresses. The Tho- 
rofields, the Evelyns, the Algoods, the Alcocks, and a hun- 
dred others too numerous to mention, all were there, and 
all beaming with the best intentions to be gay and chari- 
table. 

Mrs. Woodby was waiting with anxious expectation for 
the moment when her first theatrical flourish should be 
displayed by the appearance of the charity children, and 
had deferred the striking up of a certain band of music 
collected on the occasion until that event should occur. It 
appears, however, that some demur had taken place among 
the soberer part of the parish upon the characters allotted 
to the children, and to their leaders, the schoolmaster and 
mistress, and which indeed had been disseminated by 
those two personages themselves. It was said to be ob- 
jectionable that they should personify Heathens, when the 
object of their appearance was to promote a deed of Chris- 
tian charity. Therefore, instead of Cupids and Psyches, 
the children were turned into fairies ; whilst Mrs. Hum- 
phries, Vvho was well read in history, chose to appear as 
Queen Elizabeth ; and Merriday, who passed for a theolo- 
gian, determined to call himself Solomon. This matter 
being settled to their hearts’ content, the procession set 
off from the village school amid the shouts and huzzas of 
the joyous boys and girls; and just as Mrs. Woodby began 
to despair of their appearing at all, they made their entrance 
on the lawn, when the music struck up and every one was 
gathered together to witness the scene. 

This part of the entertainment had been intended by 
way of a surprise by Mrs. Woodby and her daughters ; 

10 * 


114 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


and as her husband had not been made a party to it, he 
stood by with inquiring looks, eager to receive an expla- 
nation for this unlooked-for display. She winked and shook 
her head, and appeared vastly pleased with her own inge- 
nuity ; when she, in her turn, was surprised upon perceiving 
Merriday step forward with the greatest gravity in front 
of the procession, and taking from his pocket a sheet of 
paper, he deliberately unfolded it, and then, with a loud 
sing-song voice, read as follows : — 

THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SONG. 

Ye gentlemen and ladies all, 

For such indeed you are, 

Come listen to my humble call 
And flock to our bazaar. 

I sing of him who is a man. 

And Woodby is the name ; 

A better show me if you can, 

Or one of brighter fame. 

And Mrs. Woodby, too, for she 
Is such another woman ; 

She is the wedded wife of he, 

And some thing more than human. 

For Mr. Woodby he thinks right 
When others they think wrong ; 

To .build a lodge is his delight, 

And make it extra strong. 

Then Mrs. Woodby tends a farm 
Where poultry lay their eggs ; 

She keeps the cow-boys nice and warm, — 

They hang their hats on pegs. 

More wealth he has than all the East ; 

He knows what makes a groat — 

That two and two make four at least. 

And nought from nought is nought. 

Then Mrs. Woodby she is Goold, 

If ever gold there be ; 

King Charles it was, so we are told. 

Gave out her pedigree. 

And since they are so conjugal, 

We will them conjugate, 

And teach the odds ’twixt will and shall,. 

Then leave them to their fate. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


115 


He’s would be, could be, should be, he ; 

For what more can I say? 

She’ better than she should be, she ; 

So now huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 


The last line was repeated over and over again by the 
children in loud plaudits, having been so tutored by their 
master, until the air rang with their cries ; and the song 
was professed to be so much admired by the company, 
who were happy to pay a compliment to the host and host- 
ess, that it was encored with universal applause. Mr. 
Woodby took the compliment paid to him and his wife 
with becoming modesty, his joy at thus being an object of 
general interest peeping out through the medium of certain 
struts, complacent looks over his person, and little exulting 
ejaculations which he could not restrain. As for Mrs. 
Woodby, she was mad with delight, and went bustling 
about seeking for compliments, seeing how well her scheme 
had taken: but at length meeting Lady Thomson, from 
whom she expected a burst of approbation, what was her 
dismay when she heard her exclaim, “ Are ye all turned mad ? 
— what could possess you to get up this trumpery? Why, 
you’ll make yourselves the laughing-stock of half the king- 
dom !” 

“ What do you mean?*’ said Mrs. Woodby, the flush of 
angry mortification rising into her face and making her 
look any thing but an angel of meekness. “ Why, the 
Dodds of Dandelion did it — so Mrs. Dodd told me at 
Brighton, and it answered very well, and I am sure ours 
has answered very well too.” 

“ Who are the Dodds of Dandelion, I should like to 
know?” said Lady Thomson with contempt in her accent. 
“It might do very well for such low persons as they are, 
no doubt; but really, if you have pretensions to life, you 
ought to know how to live.” 

“ Know how to live !” said Mrs. Woodby, taking up her 
words in anger. “If the Dodds don’t know how to live, 
you'll allow at least that Mr. Simpleton Sharp knows how 
to live; and he it was who put me up to having Roman 
gods and goddesses, with Jupiter and Juno, and so on; 
although they forgot the best of it, which was the peacock 
and the turkey-cock.” 

“ Forgot what ?” said Lady Thompson. 

“ Here, come here,” cried out Mrs. Woodby to Merriday, 
who stood at some distance lull of smiles and self-satisfac- 
tion at the success which had accompanied his effusion, — 


116 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ here explain to Lady Thomson all about it, and tell me 
where you got that song, for I never heard a word upon 
the subject.” 

“Why, you see, your ladyship,” said Merriday, “I came 
out as Solomon; and Mrs. Humphries, she was the immor- 
tal Queen Bess.” 

“ Howl” saidJVtrs. Woodby in utter surprise : “ Solomon ! 
did not I send my orders thaffyou was to be Jupiter, and 
she Juno!” 

“Yes, ma’am, so we was at first; but so please you, 
when we were sitting out this morning, Mr. Simkins the 
clerk, and Mr. Cruikshank too, they said it warn’t right in 
us to be Heathens, when all was doing for Christian chari- 
ty’s sake ; so, you see, we changed : the children all became 
fairies ; and Mrs. Humphries, she chose Queen Bess ; and I, 
(for I admire the character,) I was Solomon.” 

“My goodness me!” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby : “well, 
I’m not surprised at your thinking it vulgar now,” turning 
to Lady Thomson. “ Only conceive that they should have 
dared to change, all on account of Simkins’ objection ! I’ll 
give it to Simkins for this ! Mr. Simpleton Sharp, I, and the 
girls, made it out so clever, that nothing could be better 
than the manner in which we settled it : but really to get 
Solomon and Queen Bess for Jupiter and Juno, it is too 
bad! besides having neither Cupids nor Fiskies, (for so she 
pronounced Psyches,) which even you will allow to be 
genteel.” 

“I disapprove of the whole thing,” said Lady Thomson ; 
“ it will cast a ridicule upon what would otherwise have 
been very good and well managed. And then that foolish 
song! — what could possess him to write that song!” 

“Please your ladyship,” said Merriday, “it is all my 
own composing ; and I thought, as Solomon did sing a 
song, I might as well sing this, and then it would be all in 
character: and so I hope no offence — for we expected it 
would be a surprise.” 

“ A surprise it was with a vengeance !” said Lady Thom- 
son, turning on her heel with a look of pity, shrugging up 
her shoulders at the same time ; whilst her friend, glad to 
have found an excuse for any blame that might accrue to 
her, resumed her active duties, and busied herself in fur- 
thering the objects of the day’s meeting. 

In the mean while, the bazaar was prospering with all 
the zeal and liberality usually displayed on such occasions. 
The “ Beauty Stall,” so called, was established in the most 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


117 


conspicuous tent, ornamented by pink draperies, and 
spread over with long tables or counters on which were 
displayed the numerous and heterogeneous wares already 
alluded to. Here presided the two Miss Woodbys, the 
youngest Miss Popkin, and Mary Allnutt. Next to it was 
situated, that over which the elder Popkins and Aunt Fanny 
presided; and a third was superintended by some other 
ladies whose names it would be superfluous to mention. 

The despotism exercised by the venders over their cus- 
tomers in demanding the most exhorbitant prices, particu- 
larly by those privileged tyrants in the Beauty Stall, was 
only to be equalled by the submission with which that des- 
potism was admitted : pincushions sold for prices greater 
than they might have fetched at the first invention of pins ; 
a pair of scissors were prized as much as they would be 
in the most distant parts of the New World; and one of 
Edw^ard Manby’s drawings was paid for at the price of a 
sketch of Michael Angelo’s. The lovely Mary got so ani- 
mated in the excess of her zeal, and her beauty was so 
much heightened by the little arts which she put forth to 
entice the gold from the purses of her customers, that her 
winnings alone, it was said, were sufficient to raise the 
front of the future school-house. Those who only came 
to gaze at her beauty remained to buy her wares ; and 
whilst they delivered their money, gave up their hearts 
also. She was utterly unconscious of being the 6ause of 
more attraction than her associates : her total want of va- 
nity, her simplicity of manner, and her excited eagerness, 
were more interesting than even her extraordinary beauty. 
But the others exhibited a different conduct: they looked 
upon the present opportunity as one eminently adapted to 
show off their charms, and they did not lose it. Miss 
Woodby and Miss Popkin engaged in deep flirtations with 
every young gentleman who approached their market, and 
threw as many airs and graces into their speech, looks and 
attitudes as would have done credit to the most finished 
practitioners behind a real counter. 

Ellen— the sentimental Ellen, alone appeared abstracted 
and pre-occupied. She was not heartily engaged in her 
work ; but her eyes w 7 ere ever and anon turned towards 
the avenues leading from the entrance of the grounds, as 
if she expected some one to arrive. When she was asked 
the price of an article, she could scarcely give an answer : 
her mind seemed far removed from such objects — a demand 
for Edward Manby’s sketches alone brought her mind back 


118 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


to her business, and then she asked prices so exorbitant, 
that could any one have dived into her thoughts, he would 
have discovered that the value which she placed upon the 
sketches was only a token of the love she felt for the artist. 
At length, of a sudden, her pale face reddening to the very 
roots of her hair, as if she had seen an apparition, she ex- 
claimed to her sister, “Goodness, Anne ! there he is! — 
don’t you see him!” 

“ Whom do you mean ?” said Anne, not in the least dis- 
turbed, and continuing to tumble over pin-cushions, pen- 
wipers, and house wifes in search of a comb that had fallen 
from her thickly-complicated tresses. 

“ Why, Tom, to be sure,” said Ellen. 

“So he is!” exclaimed Anne; “and Edward Manby 
with him. Better late than never ! They are so monstrous 
proud, those Cantabs, that they think to do us a great ho- 
nour in coming thus far to see us.” 

Upon hearing this, both Charlotte Popkin and Mary 
looked up ; whilst Ellen, feigning a natural surprise, ex- 
claimed, “ Oh yes, it is Edward: I thought they never 
would come !” 

The young gentlemen in question, who were then gra- 
dually making their approach, were as dissimilar in per- 
son, character, and pursuits, as two individuals composed 
of flesh and blood could well be. Tom Woodby was a short, 
coarse, insignificant looking young man, who was always 
endeavouring to inflate himself into consequence, looking 
up with fierceness into the faces of tall men as if he would 
say, “ I am as good as you !” and eyeing little men with 
a downward aspect, implying “ I am taller than you !” 
He was full of conceit, vulgar-minded and headstrong. His 
future good prospects were ever before his eyes, and this 
conviction gave him a consequential air which he accom- 
panied with certain gestures of pretension agreeing ill 
with his looks. — Edward Manby, on the contrary, was a 
youth of peculiarly prepossessing appearance, enlivened by 
great sprightliness. There was a soft, placid, and bene- 
volent expression in his face which made it an agreeable 
object to look at : he was frank without being forward, 
humble without servility, and full of natural grace with- 
out the least affectation. The habitual cast of his features 
was contemplative and grave ; and as he was rather more 
taciturn than loquacious, upon first acquaintance he wore 
an appearance of reserve, which, however, entirely van- 
ished when he began to talk. Every one who knew him 
liked him : owing to an habitual deference of manner he 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


119 


was peculiarly apt to captivate the confidence of women, 
because he thus raised them in their own estimation. 

Having reached the front of the tent from whence they 
had at first been perceived, and having made all the proper 
speeches of recognition, accompanied by the usual demon- 
strations of satisfaction, we must defer to our next chap- 
ter the description of a few of the effects which their arri- 
val produced. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The country ball. First symptoms of the tender passion. 

We believe that the conicidence of the affections called 
“ love at first sight” is almost unknown in England at the 
present day — at least among the upper ranks of society. 
It may perhaps occasionally be found to take place where 
handsome youths- rarely meet comely maidens, and, with 
hearts mature for the intrusion of the tender passion, sud- 
denly encounter other hearts all prepared to receive the 
soft impression, and thus love and pine, and become dis- 
ordered at the recollection of what has appeared to them 
the most divine and bewitching of beings. But as society 
is now constituted, where beautiful faces and engaging 
persons are so common that it is almost a distinction to be 
ugly, — where the tender-hearted Corydon meets the lovely 
Phyllis — not in the sequestered vale, by the borders of a 
murmuring brook, nor under the umbrageous wood ; but 
in the crowded assembly, in the swarming public walk, 
where he meets her rivalled and surpassed in beauty and 
in charms by a hundred other Phillises ; under such cir- 
cumstances it is almost impossible that so quick an ex- 
change can take place as to establish a passion after a few 
preliminary glances. 

The two younh men were both at the same moment 
struck with the extraordinary beauty and grace of Mary. 
The presumptuous Tom, who looked upon every thing 
in his father’s house as exclusively his own, unobservant of 
Charlotte Popkin, who, he knew, had been brought there 
purposely for the promotion of a family scheme, at once 
addressed himself to the retiring Mary, as if he were se- 
cure of achieving a conquest upon his first address. He 
approached her in a sort of easy picktooth manner, looked 
at her with effrontery, spoke to her in a tone of familiar ac- 
quaintance, and then, by way of exhibiting his importance, 


120 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


requested Manby to go and seek out his father and mo- 
ther in order to inform them of his arrival. Mary, with 
that quickness of perception which characterises woman, 
had at one glance recognised in Tom’s companion him 
whom she had heard so constantly eulogised and admired, 
and an involuntary suffusion had overspread her face, for 
which she could give to herself no good reason : but when 
she heard young Woodby’s speech and observed his arro- 
gant manner, she was at once restored to her composure, 
and asserted a dignity which to that moment she was ig- 
norant of being inherent in her nature. 

Manby, in the mean while, had stood aloof, scarcely 
heeding the more than cordial welcome with which he 
was received by the Miss Woodbys in the absorbing inte- 
rest which Mary’s beauty and appearance had already 
produced upon him. Nothing that he ever read in poetry, 
no image that had ever offered itself to his imagination, 
had ever come up to what he now saw before him. He 
gazed in silence upon that downcast look of modesty — 
that bloom and freshness of complexion — that symmetry 
of form, and was filled with that enchantment which seemed 
spread over every thing that surrounded her, until he was 
ashamed of his astonishment and embarrassed at his own 
awkwardness. Young Woodby’s words broke the spell 
by which he was bound ; and totally heedless of the offen- 
sive manner in which those words were expressed, he 
hastened to perform his errand. 

“ How can you treat Edward in that manner 1” said 
Ellen to her brother, with anger in her look : “ he is not 
your servant.” 

“ Why, what’s the matter now 1” said Tom, apparently 
nettled. “ Ned is a good sort of fellow, and would go to the 
d — 1 to please me. My servant indeed ! — who said he was 1” 

These words were scarcely uttered, before Mrs. Wood- 
by, escorted by her husband and followed by Manby, ap- 
peared in search of her son, whom she greeted with re- 
proaches for having arrived so late, and immediately dragged 
him away to present him to their several friends. Her 
form of introduction to her intimates was generally after 
this wise : “ My son Tom, ’please.” To those who were 
entitled to more consideration, she made use of a little 
more involution : “ allow me to ’troduce our eldest.” Upon 
every one of which occasions, the youth made certain con- 
tortions commonly called bows, and paraded his insignifi- 
cant person, apparently proud of the gifts which Nature 
had bestowed upon him. 


ABEL ALLNLTT. 


121 


Manby, in the mean while, was passed over totallyun- 
heeded: there were no introductions for him. Mr. Wood - 
by alone said, “ Ah, Ned, howareyou?” whilsthis wife, full 
of fearslest he should be toomuch beloved byherdaughters, 
and filled with a secret conviction of his superiority 
over her son, lost no opportunity of slighting him. Lady 
Thomson, who really admired, and who would have found 
pleasure in protecting him, had she esteemed him to be the 
* genteel thing,’ thought him too dangerous a person to 
turn loose* among young ladies who were too romantic to 
calculate consequences, and therefore seldom bestowed 
upon him the light of her countenance. Abel Allnutt 
alone, who remarked how much he was neglected, and who 
was forcibly drawn towards him by the prepossessing 
beauty of his countenance and the modest manliness of 
his demeanour, went up to Mr. Woodby and asked that 
he might make his acquaintance. “ You’ll find Ned a 
clever fellow,” said Woodby; “but he is too poor and 
too proud to make his way in the world.” Upon which 
the introduction was made: and perhaps no intimacy was 
ever so soon formed as that which took place between 
these two men; for there is a freemasonry among good and 
generous natures which acts, perhaps, with greater force 
than with sympathies of any other description. Although 
incased in an humble and unpromising exterior, Manby 
soon discovered the exceWence ot Abel’s mind: whilst 
Abel, accustomed to meet with little other than vulgar 
and worldly people in the confined circle in which he 
moved, was delighted to find in Manby sentiments so 
congenial to his own. Perhaps, on the part of Manby, 
the desire of becoming acquainted with Abel was more 
interested than contrariwise; because, although we do 
not pretend to assert that this was a case of love at first 
sight, yet true it is that Manby had been so much struck 
by Mary’s beauty and appearance, that the circumstance, 
which he soon discovered, of Abel being Mary’s uncle, 
very materially enhanced his desire of making himself 
agreeable to him. 

Once having become acquainted with Abel, he very 
soon after was made known to the other members of his 
family. Aunt Barbara, without taking into consideration 
what might be his fortune, connexions, or future prospects, 
or in the least reverting to that chain of consequences 
which, like deductions in mathematics, are so sure 
to run through the minds of mothers and aunts, when 
Vol. I. — 11 


122 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


young men are introduced to their daughters or nieces, 
received him with cordiality, and soon asked him to visit 
them at [vycote. Aunt Fanny sighed for those pastimes 
when with a look she would have ensured a conquest 
over so handsome a youth, and still hoped that even on 
that very night she might secure him for a partner in the 
dance (for she danced still,) and therefore her reception 
of him was more than flattering. As for Mary, we have al- 
ready described the effect which his first appearance had 
made upon her. We do not pretend to say, that, in this 
instance too, love at first sight was exemplified; but in 
truth it is in vain to deny that the foundation ot the ten- 
der passion had long lain in her breast, although there 
existed in her mind several counteracting influences 
to prevent the rapid growth of the feeling. Ellen was 
standing near her when Manby was presented to Mary; 
she watched Manby’s looks and actions with the eye of 
a lynx, and the apprehension that she had always laboured 
under, (like the forewarning which so frequently pre- 
cedes a disaster,) that Mary would be her rival, made 
her alive to the smallest interchange of words or looks 
that took place between them. What occurred on this 
occasion passed off* like most introductions made between 
taciturn young men to shy young women: the young 
man stammered out a few incoherent monosyllables, and 
the young lady said nothing. 

We come now to the moment when the ball was about 
to take the place of the morning’s amusement. The pro- 
duce of the sales had realized the utmost expectations of 
the promoters of the charity, and every thing seemed pro- 
pitious to the intended result, that Mr. and Mrs. Goold 
Wood by ’s name should go down to posterity on the tabular 
front of a new school-house. Between the termination 
of the bazaar and the beginning of Jthe ball, the princi- 
pal talk was of the comparative earnings of the different 
stalls: the Beauties had made so much havoc in the purses 
as well as in the hearts of the company, that their re- 
ceipts had been out and out the most considerable. Lady 
Thomson had so ingeniously contrived to make everyone 
believe that they were not only the promoters of wit, but 
wits themselves, that she sold all the ‘ Fashionable Ad- 
vertisers ’ at unheard-of prices. Every body likes to be 
in the fashion and therefore every body bought a copy: 
but it was amusing to observe how few discovered where 
the point of the humour lay, and how many went about 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


123 


exclaiming, “ How good! what excellent fun!” who were 
only sufficiently sentient to catch the sympathy of a horse- 
laugh without having discovered how that convulsion had 
been produced. 

It will be easily conceded that wherever the mind is 
not interested, every amusement must ’end by becoming 
vapid and fatiguing. The success of a masquerade de- 
pends upon the wit and ingenuity of those who support 
the characters they have adopted; but what possible 
amusement can emanate, after the eye has once been sa- 
ted, from a collection of fine dresses? On the occasion 
before us, whatever gaiety might have been forthcoming, 
such as is usual when the body is left to its own natural 
impulse in dance and mirth, here became constrained by 
the ponderous effect of fine dresses. Mrs Woodby ap- 
peared in crimson velvet as Mary Queen of Scots, with 
a close cap of the same material, which fitting tight to 
her head, threw out the broad orb of her face into promi- 
nent relief, whilst the border of pearls with which it was 
encircled, sweeping in an easy curve <m her forehead, was 
terminated in the middle by a large oval-iike pearl, which 
acted throughout the evening as a pendulum over her nose. 
Her daughters came forward with the pretensions of ves- 
tal virgins, wearing long floating draperies of the light- 
est muslin pendent from the back of their heads; but, un- 
satisfied with the simplicity of plain white, they chose to 
adorn their persons with the gorgeous colourings of sul- 
tanas: thu-> were neither simple nor magnificent. Mr. 
Woodby personified the Great Mogul in a turban and 
feather; but he was very much put out throughout the 
entertainment because some one asked him with great 
naivete , whether he had not dressed after the figure-head 
of the East India Company’s ship the Akbar. His son 
enacted Sir Charles Grandison. Lady Thomson sparkled 
in a tiara of gold and amethysts, intending to look like 
Pasta, but calling herself Cleopatra, with a train of white 
satin, and round-toed sandals of the same, whilst a long 
viper-like bracelet wound up her plump arm.-—As for 
the Allnutts, their dresses were 7 quite in keeping with 
their character. Aunt Bab, by way of fancy, tied the 
ribands of her cap behind instead of before. Fanny in- 
geniously had contrived a dress, of many colours from the 
stores of her wardrobe, and thus at a small expense was 
fine and flaunting; whilst Mary, with the addition of a 
few flowers and a few extra, ribands, composed a cos- 


124 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


tume which, by its bewitching simplicity, was more at- 
tractive than those of the most gorgeous, amongst whom 
the rich Miss Popkins shone conspicuous. 

yf e will not tire our readers with all the vapid circum- 
stances of a ball — of a country ball too, in which there 
are usually but few occurrences worthy of record. The 
prominent circumstances of the evening which, as far as 
the interest of our tale is concerned, it is our duty to 
point out, was the rapid progress which took place in the 
acquaintance so recently formed between Edward Manby 
and Mary. In vain Ellen kept hovering about him, en- 
deavouring all in her power to make herself the object of 
his attentions; he heeded her not, but, like a moth at- 
tracted by light, he could not drag himself from the in- 
vincible attractions of Mary’s beauty. He first talked to 
her upon all those common-place subjects which are 
usually discussed between young gentlemen and ladies in 
a ball-room; but, instead of finding one well versed in 
issipation, what was his delight to 



never before been in public, and 


that the pomp and circumstance of the exhibition- which 
surrounded them, were almost as new to her as the dan- 
cing of men with tight clothes and of women with unco- 
vered faces might be to a Mahometan ! The good sense, 
the ingenuousness, and the good feeling of her observa- 
tions, raised her in his estimation; the softness of her 
manner and the sweet tones of her voice charmed him, 
and the surpassing beauty of her smile and countenance 
kept his eye in a fixed gaze, which indeed amounted al- 
most to rudeness. 

She, in the mean while, was overtaken by sensations 
which she had never before felt. Charm of manner and 
general agreeableness of person are not to be defined: 
they are one of the greatest gifts which Nature in her 
bounty to man can bestow; they put him well with his 
fellow-creatures — they ensure him a good reception go 
where he will, and gather that brilliant attraction around 
him, which sunshine throws over every object upon which 
it alights. Edward Manby was abundantly gifted by 
these qualities; and not being conscious of their existence, 
they acted with greatly increased power upon those by 
whom they were discovered. Mary was charmed, she 
knew not why: — she had never before seen one so total a 
stranger who had in the least attracted her notice; his 
conversation pleased her — his attentions flattered her, and 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


125 


sfie felt an irresistible propensity to treat him as a friend,, 
tor confidence soon becomes sympathetic between pure 
minds. But while she willingly gave way to the pleasure 
of his conversation, her satisfaction was checked by ob- 
serving the sad and mortified appearance of Ellen’s coun- 
tenance, who sat by eyeing her with jealousy and asperity 
of looks. The conver sation which she had had with her 
on a former occasion upon the subject of Edward imme- 
diately flashed upon her recollection ; and the conscious- 
ness that she was the cause of giving her pain acted like 
a cloud passing over a smiling landscape, and a chill ac- 
companied by constraint on a sudden came across her 
manner towards the enraptured youth. A middle course 
often engenders a false position: and thus between the 
fear of offending Ellen, and the desire of making herself 
agreeable to Edward, the inoffensive maiden only suc- 
ceeded in alarming and irritating the one, whilst she mor- 
tified the other. Her last res >urce in this dilemma was 
abruptly to rise, which she did in the hope that her ab- 
sence might bring on that consummation which Ellen so 
devoutly wished — a conversation with Edward. But she 
was mistaken — Kdward had never loved Ellen, and still 
less was he in a humour now to bestow any attentions 
upon her: therefore, like a stricken deer which had re- 
ceived the shaft in its holy, not knowing how to disen- 
gage itself from the smart, — -so he mechanically followed 
Mary, pursuing her w ith the eyes, and longing to renew 
the intercourse which had been established between them. 
But the ball as well as the d.iy had by this time drawn to 
a close, and strong symptoms of general departure be- 
came manifest. 

The gay scene during its various changes and fluctua- 
tions might be compared to an exhibition on a theatre; 
but as it gradually glided from the drawing-room to the 
entrance-hall, what with huddling on of cloaks, tying up 
of throats, wrapping up heads, and precautionary ejacu- 
lations against cold and rheumatism, it soon partook in 
appearance more of the approaches to an hospital. Eve- 
ry one thought it right to pay a compliment to the master 
and mistress of the house upon the success of their day’s 
entertainment, and they took it with the same satisfaction 
that successful ministeis receive the praises of the public 
after a fortunate measure. The arrogant Tom attributed 
much of the glory of the fete to himself, and in conse- 
quence thought that he conferred a distinguished honour 


126 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


on Mary by helping her to ascend the family vehicle— a 
privilege which Edward had ceded to him, satisfied with 
the permission he had received of visiting Ivycote the 
next day. The lamps and candles had scarcely begun to 
be extinguished ere Lady Thomson and Anne Woodby 
commenced the usual gossip upon the events of the day; 
whilst the disconsolate Ellen, who had been unhappy 
throughout the evening, began to regain her spirits, when 
she thought that Mary being gone she would now have 
Edward all to herself. Little did she know that the af- 
fections she wished to secure were not to be won by im- 
portunity. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

JL few consequences of dissipation described: the wisest may become 
foolish. 

How various are the feelings apt to arise in every breast, 
male and female, after a series of dissipation ! Hopes 
raised and ’ depressed; anticipations not realised, pride 
mortified and elevated; the beginning of a new passion, 
the extinguishing of an old one; cold calculation and san- 
guine scheming; the excitement of little spites, the pro- 
gress of substantial hatreds; false delight and real enjoy- 
ment, hollow professions and sincere congratulations; — in 
short, every smaller passion of the mind and springing of 
the heart are sure to be exercised during the exhibition of 
what is often called this rational amusement and innocent 
enjoyment, and are left to fructify in their consequences 
by reminiscence. In the case of Edward Manby, our 
subsequent narrative will show how much the formation 
of his character and the actions and fortunes of his future 
life were biassed by the events which we have recorded 
in the foregoing chapter, which, acting upon a noble and 
generous nature, were productive of much good. 

His companion, Tom, may also be cited as another in- 
stance of the power of circumstances to bias the charac- 
ter, although his case was differently constituted. From 
what has already been said concerning him, the reader 
may conclude that he was one of those low-minded beings 
who, when brought into competition with others of a su- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


127 


perior cast at school or college, was constantly subject to 
contumely and mortification. Now, however, he sud- 
denly found himself elevated into a personage of conse- 
quence: he was proclaimed and soon felt himself to be 
the heir ot a wealthy house; his mean nature could not 
withstand the adulation which directly and indirectly 
he received, and thus he was confirmed in arrogance and 
in all the attributes of a coxcomb. We might continue 
to select cases from among the different personages who 
were acted upon on this occasion, particularly noticing 
Mr. and Mrs. Woodby ’s pride of success, their daughters’ 
exacerbation of vanity amidst other passions, the first 
dawn of ambition in the ladies Allnutt to give a fete, 
and the confirmation in the mind of Abel of his distaste 
for worldly doings; but it would take us too far out of 
the path of our narrative, and we will proceed to the 
time when, on the following morning, Edward found him- 
self, almost by stealth, laying his plans for a visit to Ivy- 
cote. 

The discussions at breakfast upon the events of the pre- 
ceding evening were carried on with great animation. 
Lady Thomson had been exercising her powers of criti- 
cism upon the whole fete, and particularly upon the ball, 
in terms which showed how much she felt hurt that suf- 
ficient attention had not been given to her injunctions. 
Mrs. Woodby, to ward off* this attack, vented her obser- 
vations upon Lady Thorofield’s fancy dress, which she 
asserted was mean and shabby, considering that she was 
Hie wife of a lord; her daughters laughed at Fanny All- 
nutt, and turned up their noses at Mary’s cheap muslin; 
whilst Mr. Woodby calculated what might be the cost of 
the whole affair, and expressed indignation at the drunk- 
enness of one of the fiddlers, who, not satisfied with beer, 
had insisted upon wine. 

Availing himself of the little heed taken of him, Ed- 
ward quietly left the room, but in so doing was not unob- 
served by Tom Woodby; for, proceeding with a quick 
step towards Ivycote, he was mortified to hear himself 
called by name, and obliged in courtesy to await the pre- 
sence of Tom, who, having made a guess at his inten- 
tions, had followed him with the determination of accom- 
panying him to the habitation of her who engrossed both 
their thoughts. The intimacy — for it could not be called 
friendship — between these young men had been fostered, 
assuredly not by any similarity of tastes or dispositions, 


128 


ABEL \LLNUTT. 


but, by various circumstances scarcely necessary here to 
enumerate, Tom had found in Edward’s easy disposition 
more compliance with his domineering temper than with 
others of his fellow-collegians; and Edward’s position in 
life naturally threw him into the society of those who 
were acquainted with his relations, and who lived in some 
degree in their neighbourhood. However forbearing Ed- 
ward might be in matters of no importance, he was other- 
wise firm and uncompromising, and so he proved to be 
on the occasion now before us, for proceeding towards 
Ivycote, Tom undertook to rally Edward with coarse and 
unseasonable merriment at his attempt to steal a march 
upon him in visiting the Allnutts, and continued in the 
same strain to make remarks upon Mary — remarks so full 
of licentiousness, that Edward was obliged to rebuke him 
in a manner to which lie had seldom been accustomed. 
Tom taunting, Edward resenting — the one giving himself 
airs of libertine superiority, the other allowing no quarter 
to the coarseness of mind which was exhibited — produced 
an angry tone of conversation which was at its height 
when they reached Ivycote, and t hey were introduced 
into that peaceful abode hot with contention. 

The family at Ivycote had equally been taken up 
during the morning’s meal with discussions upon the 
events of the preceding-evening, and they were scarcely 
ended ere Tom- Wood by and Edward Man by were an • 
nou need. Charmed and delighted at all they had wit- 
nessed, Aunt Bab ‘asserted that it stood to reason, and 
that she was sure she was right when she said that the 
parish would be all the better for such doings, and that 
although there. might be some doubt about the propriety 
of exhibiting charity children in the wav they had been, 
(nor d (I she much like the school -master’s song, i still 
they would be all the better by a good school -house. 
Aunt Fanny was so charmed, that she did not see why 
they too should not give something of the same kind, now 
that through John’s ingenuity they had grown so rich. 
Mary clapped her hands at the thought; whilst uncle 
Abel looked thoughtful and shook his head. 

When Tom and Edward entered, they were received 
with open arms, and the whole scene wasagain discussed; 
whilst Mr. and Mrs. Wood by were lauded up to the skies 
for their public spirit. Tom endeavoured to appropriate 
as much of the honour and glorv as he could to himself — 
and always glancing at Mary, strove to impress the com- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


129 


pany present with his own importance. Edward, mean 
while, as he usually did, allowed himself to remain in the 
back-ground, quite satisfied with the hearty welcome by 
which he had been greeted, and with the smile of recogni- 
tion ‘which he received from Mary: but his companion, 
not satisfied with vapouring, must needs endeavour to 
establish his superiority in matters foreign to the present 
occasion, with a view, as he hoped, to attract Mary and to 
confound Edward. 

Abel having doubted whether the pains which were 
taken now-a-days to educate the poor would fulfil the 
general expectations, seeing that, owing to the corruption 
of the human heart, man was prone to turn benefits into 
channels of evil, Tom, perking up his little person into 
the most erect perpendicular, exclaimed, “Egad! sir, I 
am all for the people: I don’t see why a poor man may 
not read as well as a rich one — one man is as good as an- 
other, any day of the week.” 

“ We are all equal, ’tis true, in the sight of God,” said 
Abel, “inasmuch as every one of us will be tried by one 
and the same law; but if we were all to start fair, as in a 
race — all with the same advantages of education, still in a 
very little while some would get ahead of others by mere 
superiority of intellect, and then their equality would 
cease.” 

“Ah! I see,” said Tom, “you are one of those who 
would truckle to a king, and his vile and corrupt minis- 
ters.” 

“As for truckling to a king,” said Abel, “ I -feel it my 
duty to love, honour, and obey the king; and if that is 
truckling, I do truckle. As for his ministers, if they are 
vile and corrupt, they will get their deserts in due time, 
either from an earthly or a heavenly tribunal; but as long 
as they are in authority I obey them.” 

“ You are a regular king and constitution boy, I see,” 
said Tom, starting from his seat, as if pleased with his 
exclamation. “I dare say, now, you hate change and 
correction of abuses.” 

“ With respect to that,” said Abel, “ I do not require 
changes for change’s sake; but l am all in favour of them 
if they be necessary. I hold it for certain, that every 
country gradually, and according to circumstances, 
adapts its laws and institutions to its own peculiar wants, 
modes, and manners of life. A theory may be very 
good, but it is only made perfect by practice. So, a 


130 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


shoemaker may make an excellent pair of shoes upon the 
measure he takes of the foot to be fitted; but he never 
can prevent their being a little uneasy at first, and they 
only become agreeable to the wearer after the leather 
and the foot have adapted themselves one to the other: 
and so it is with constitutions.” 

“ 1 see,” said Tom, again chuckling, “ you are a regu- 
lar king apd constitution man. I hate constitutions as 
much as I do kings! Sir, give me liberty and equality — 
it is our right, and we will have it.” 

“Never mind him,” said Edward, who now saw that 
Abel was becoming vexed; “he does not mean what he 
says. Ask him whether he would consent to see us walk 
into Belvedere Hall and help ourselves to what we liked 
by way of liberty, and whether he is willing to share his 
fortune with us in equal parts by way of equality. I think 
I know what his answer would be.” 

“ It stands to reason that he would not,” said Aunt Bab; 
“and I am sure that I would not like to give up our small 
house to any one who chose to come in, however I might 
wish to make every body comfortable, no more than the 
peasant would be pleased to see me settle myself in his 
cottage, however glad he might be to see me. 1 am quite 
sure I’m right to say, that God has assigned to every one 
his lot and portion in this world, and with that let him be 
content.” 

Mary, in the mean while, far from having been smitten 
with Mr. Thomas Goold Woodby, junior, upon a nearer 
acquaintance, shrunk from his advances in the same pro- 
portion that she showed herself happy in conversing with 
Edward Manby, whose eyes seemed to be so much fasci- 
nated by her beauty, that his tongue almost forgot its ar- 
ticulation whenever she happened to address him. She 
inquired of him whether he had lately heard from Liver- 
pool — a place upon which the whole of her thoughts were 
fixed, because it was from thence she was anxiously ex- 
pecting to receive news from her father, but which for 
some time past she had expected in vain. The family had 
heard indirectly that he had landed at Vera Cruz in safe- 
ty, and that he had proceeded to Mexico; but they had 
received no direct communication from him. 

“ Ah, there has been a great hurricane in the West In- 
dies!” said Aunt Barbara with a most geographical look, 
“ and that must be the reason; and as it has blown a 
whole island to pieces, it stands to reason that John’s let- 
ter might have been carried away in the dilemma*” 


Abel allnutt. 


131 

“ But Mexico is not in the West Indies,” said Abel 
very composedly, and perfectly recovered from the late 
discussion with Tom. 

“There you’re wrong, Abel,” said Aunt Bab, “and 
I ’m sure I’m rights for did not Mr. Wilkins, the great 
West India merchant, say last night that we were now in 
as great danger of losing our colonies as the Spaniards 
theirs? Now, it stands to reason that as all colonies are 
in the West Indies, Mexico must be in the West Indies 
also — any child will tell you that.” 

“ So be it,” said Abel with great resignation of look 
and voices “ b„ut I am afraid that we must look to some 
more probable cause than the one you have assigned for 
the absence of John’s letters.” 

“ Nothing is so uncertain as the arrival of a ship-letter,” 
said Edward, wishing thereby to give consolation to Ma- 
ry’s evident anxiety. “The Atlantic is but an indifferent 
post-road, and perhaps as many letters miscarry upon it 
as reach their destination in safety.” 

“Time will show,” said Mary, with a tear starting in 
her eye, and suppressing a sigh; whilst Aunt Fanny, whose 
idee fixe had now become the absolute necessity of giving 
a something similar to what had been performed at the 
Woodbys, suddenly addressing herself to Tom, said, 
“Now, Mr. Woodby — now don’t you think our lawn 
would do vastly well for dancing upon? You see w e might 
illuminate the back of the kitchen so as to produce a tine 
effect, and the musicians might sit on the top of the cis- 
tern.” 

Tom seemed rather to turn up his nose at the proposal, 
thinking it a satire upon the grandeurs of his family man- 
sion; but when Mary, throwing oft' her anxiety, joined in 
the scheme, and expressed her happiness at the bare idea 
of such an undertaking, he made an effort to look gracious; 
whilst Edward, forgetting their past controversies, readily 
entered upon the subject with zeal, and forthwith walking 
out upon the lawn, seemed willing to aid Fanny’s ingenui- 
ty, and helped her to plan out all the details of the forth- 
coming festivities. 

“Now, don’t you see,” said the spinster, “ that we have 
plenty of room? Here we will dance — there will be the 
fiddlers — in that corner Betty can make the tea and the 
lemonade, — benches will be placed under the trees for re- 
pose, and the old folks may play at cards in the parlour.” 

“ That will be delightful!” exclaimed Mary, 


132 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ But who will come?” said Tom in a tone of contempt; 
— “ I should like to know who will come all this way lor 
tea and lemonade.” 

“ What can we have more?” again exclaimed Mary, 
looking up in despair at her aunt, and taking Tom’s ob- 
servation as oracular. “ What shall we do? you know 
we cannot have a ball without dancers.” 

“ No more we can,” said Fanny, equally disturbed; 
then having, as she hoped, called up a bright thought, she 
exclaimed, “ But we can manage something more — no- 
thing is more easy; let us have a rout besides.” 

“Psha!” said Tom with ineffable contempt, as if he 
would say, “ How ignorant of the world are you!” 

“ What is a rout?” said Mary. 

“Lord Demone told me, I recollect very well,” said 
Fanny, “ that when a number of people are gathered to- 
gether and fill a room so full that they can’t move, they 
call that a rout.” 

“ It is a very improper sort of an assembly,” said Aunt 
Bab: “it consists of people being packed close together, 
and it stands to reason that must be improper.” 

“ Indeed!” said Fanny; “ I do not see that: you can’t 
help people being men and women.” 

“ What you mean,” said Tom, addressing Aunt Fanny 
in a tone of superiority, — “ What you mean is what we 
call in Erench a soiry dansang, or a dancing evening,” 
pronouncing his French words with all the confidence of 
an academician. 

“Exactly,” said Fanny; “ that’s just what I meant; — 
we want something or other to dance.” 

“ You may be certain,” said Edward, “ that whenever 
people are inclined to be sociable and good-natured, they 
will be happy to come to you upon any terms. As to those 
who are not, their absence is more to be desired than their 
presence wished for,” 

Tom surlily quitted the house; Edward lingered on for 
some time after, to sgiy a few last words to Mary, and 
then left the inhabitants of Ivycote to the full enjoyment 
of a party of pleasure by anticipation. 


( ‘33 ) 


CHAPTER XIX. 


No follies are more regretted than those produced by one's own im- 
prudence. 

What at first had only been a matter of mere specula- 
tion, in the course of a short time, from the force of cir- 
cumstances, became one of necessity. It was very soon 
rumoured abroad that the Allnutts of Ivycote were about 
to give a ball, for that they had come to their own again — 
that they were determined to turn over a new leaf; and 
moreover, some of the wiser heads added that the beauti- 
ful Miss Mary was to marry the heir of Belvedere Hall. 
The first symptoms of the forthcoming muscular exercise 
broke out in the very house itself: old Betty informed 
Aunt Barbara of having heard it from Giles the postman — 
who had been assured of the circumstance by Mrs. Chaw, 
the chandler’s wife — who had been told of it by the clario- 
net-player — who had had it from Mr. Napkin himself, the 
butler at Belvedere;— in short, it was plain, she said, 
“ that a great dance was about setting in, and that there- 
fore it was their province to prepare for it.” 

“That is very odd,” said Aunt Bab; “it is very odd 
that Mrs. Shaw should know what I do not know my- 
self.” 

“ It may be odd,” said old Betty, “ but so it is — it is 
the general talk all over; and what is general, as the say- 
ing is, must be partikler somewheres.” 

“ But it stands to reason,” argued her mistress, “ that 
if we do not know it — we who are to give the ball, others 
surely cannot.” 

“That may be,” retorted the old servant; “but, for all 
that, it is likely to be true; because, as they all say, and 
true enough it be, that as Master John, God bless him! 
has got all the mines in Mexico on his hands, and so has 
o-ot all the gold in the world, it is but right that the family- 
* Vol. I. — 12 


134 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


should hold up their heads again, and let the poor folks 
partake of their good fortune.” 

Aunt Barbara, who had hitherto allowed her sister and 
her niece to amuse their minds by planning the entertain- 
ment without ever having in her mind given her consent 
to it, was struck with the concluding observation of her 
old servant; and as any thing which could conduce to 
give pleasure to the poor was always certain to have great 
weight with her, without further balancing the expediency 
of the act, all at once she became favourably inclined to 
its execution. On that very morning at breakfast, the 
time when most family projects were discussed, she gave 
a hint that the one in question was not so impossible as 
at first was imagined. Abel stared, and again shook his 
head, as his sister made known her views; but Fanny’s 
delight and zeal taking fire, she did not allow the subject 
to drop, but at once opened the whole scheme, in a speech 
which, had it been made in the assembly of the nation and 
upon some graver topic, might have given her fame and 
immortality. Mary seconded the motion, more by happi- 
ness of looks and charm of countenance than by words; 
and after an animated discussion upon w hat the nature of 
the festivities was to be, and upon those knotty points, 
the who and the how, and the where and the when, the 
determination might be said to be conclusive. 

44 I have been thinking,” said Aunt Bab, 44 that we may 
begin the day’s amusement by distributing flannel waist- 
coats and petticoats and worsted stockings to the old men 
and women of the parish, and giving roast beef and plum- 
pudding to the charity children, which will be very pretty 
among the potatoe-beds in the kitchen garden; and then, 
after that, we may danee on the green and drink sylla- 
bubs. 

“But what shall we* call it?” said Aunt Fanny, whose 
whole heart was set upon gentility. “ It must be.called 
something. We hear of archery meelings and musical 
meetings: we could not call it a flannel -petticoat meeting, 
could we? It would be new perhaps; but I do not think 
it would sound genteel, somehow. You know we must 
put something on the cards of invitation.” 

“Call it simply a ball,” said Aunt Bab. “ It stands 
to reason that when people are invited to dance, a ball is 
the consequence: they must know that, in order to put on 
dancing-shoes.” 

44 Could we not call it a dance,” said Mary very hum- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


135 


bly, “since it is to take place on the lawn? A ball, I 
believe, is generally performed in a room.” 

“ I bhe your idea of syllabubs very much, Bab,” said 
Fanny to her sister. “A cow may be introduced with 
great effect, with the tallest charity-girl dressed as a milk- 
maid. We might put syllabubs in one corner of the card, 
and dancing in the other: that, I think, would do very 
well, and be reckoned smartish.” 

“ If that was the case,” said Aunt Bab, “ we might as 
well put ‘ flannel petticoats ’ in the middle: then all would 
be right.” 

“ 1 tell you what,” said Fanny, struck by a bright 
thought; “ we had better consult Lady Thomson — she is 
at Belvedere now; and as she knows all that is right and 
proper to do, I am sure she will help us with her advice. 
Suppose Mary and I were to drive over to her this morn- 
ing, and consult her and the Woodbys?” 

“ I think you would do very well,” said Aunt Bab: 
“don’t you think they would?” she said, addressing her- 
self to Abel, who to this moment had not opened his 
lips. 

“ I think,” said Abel, “ if they were to consult some 
wiser heads than theirs, such heads would tell them ‘ Give 
no ball at all.’ ” He said this in a half-smiling, half-se- 
rious manner, not willing to check the spirits of his sisters 
and niece on the one hand, and still unwilling to conceal 
his own real sentiments on the other; for, in truth, he al- 
ways had a misgiving that the prosperity which they ac- 
tually enjoyed was not yet founded upon a sufficiently 
firm basis to allow of their launching out into expenses 
which might throw them out of their depth. 

“ My dear Abel,” said Bab, who having acquiesced in 
the scheme, thought herself called upon to defend it,— 
“ My dear Abel, surely you cant think of opposing your- 
self "to what is likely to do the parish so much good and 
to give us so much pleasure! There is John, who is 
now making his fortune, and who, everybody says, is 
likely to be one of the richest men of his day — surely 
he would not object to it: on the contrary, would not he 
be the first to set our plan going, and to insist upon our 
not living hugger-mugger for ever in this corner of ours 
without making others partake of our plenty? It stands 
to reason that nobody will invite us out if we do nothing 
for them in return; and have we not been at the Wood- 
bysWand is not dear Mary to be seen a bit — and arn’t 


136 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the poor to have something to keep them warm in winter? 
Surely it stands to reason I’m right, and I am sure you 
think so too, only you dont like dancing yourself.” 

Abel, who was not in the smallest degree selfish, when 
he heard himself accused of so odious a feeling would 
have retorted with anger, but his usual mildness and for- 
bearance coming to his aid, he said, “Bab, I was going 
to be angry, but I will not. If you lay my opposition 
to my distaste to dancing, I have no more to say. I thought 
you knew me better ; and I also thought that you would 
nave discovered the motives of my opposition to have 
been grounded on something more than a mere selfish 
feeling. Let the ball take place for pity’s sake, and I 
will say no more against it.” 

Upon which Mary, whose affection for her uncle was 
one of the leading feelings of her heart, went up to him, 
and throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him with 
the most tender demonstrations of love and respect. 

Aunt Fanny, and Mary by her side, drove to Bel- 
vedere in the course of the morning. Engrossed as they 
were with the object of their visit, it was only when they 
began to approach the house that Mary recollected sud- 
denly that she was about to see Ed ward ; and the blush 
which overspread her face, had a keen observer been 
present, would have disclosed to him what she yet scarcely 
knew herself — that her affections were in a fair way of 
becoming irretrievably engaged. Her apprehensions that 
her visit might be interpreted otherwise than it was meant, 
were quieted on perceiving at a distance several sports- 
men with dogs and fowling-pieces gliding through a dis- 
tant wood, in one of whom she recognised Edward; and 
this discovery giving her confidence, she and her aunt 
alighted at the door, and were soon ushered into the 
presence of Lady Thomson, Mrs. Woodby and her daugh- 
ters. 

These ladies, w ; ith that quickness of comprehension 
belonging to women, having already received intimation 
of the project in contemplation, exchanged glances when 
Aunt Fanny and her niece were announced, and received 
them with every demonstration of a hearty welcome. 
After a certain proportion of deviations from the straight 
line, Fanny all at once came to the point by saying, “ We 
have been so much delighted with our day at Belvedere, 
that we have been thinking that we might do something 
also, and we want you to give us your advice: it would 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


1 37 


b« rer y good-natured of you, Lady Thomson — you who 
know these matters well, if you would just look in upon 
us and see what can be done.” 

Mrs. Woodby looked grave at this appeal to Lady 
Thomson, when she esteemed herself the higher authority; 
Lady Thomson began to swell with increased dignity at 
receiving so great a compliment to her judgment; and the 
two young ladies started up in rapture at the prospect of 
the proposed gaiety. 

“ I shall be charmed, I am sure,” said Lady Thomson; 
“ for in justice to myself I must say, that having had a 
good deal to do in that line both at Cheltenham and at 
Bath, my hints may not perhaps be entirely useless.” 

“ How charming! how delightful!” exclaimed Anne 
Wood by. 

“ I dare say it will be very nice,” sighed Ellen. 

“ I don’t see where you can ever find room,” sternly 
pronounced Mrs. Woodby, “to give anything beyond 
tea and cards, — and that does not require much manage- 
ment.” 

“Of course,” said Aunt Fanny, venturing her scrap 
of French, “ it can only be in th e petit way; but we think, 
with a little coaxing, we can make it joli also.” 

“Let us see,” said Mrs. Woodby: “you have got a 
bit of lawn, a quarter of an acre of kitchen-garden, some 
cucumber-beds that run up to the back of the pig-sty, and 
your green-house; you can’t do much out of that.” 

“But we have trees on the lawn,” said Aunt Fanny, 
rather bridling up at this attack upon their premises, “and 
we have benches under them; and everybody agrees they 
look pretty. Then we have a great deal of laurel at the 
back of the kitchen, with some very pretty ivy that 
covers the long chimney: all that will come in very well 
with lamps and festoons. Then, you know, when dancing 
is going on on the green, cards and tea may be going on 
in the parlour; and a very good place may be managed 
for the music on the great cistern. And then you 
know ” 

“ Nothing can be said,” observed Lady Thomson, cut- 
ting Fanny short, “ until we have seen the place; and 
although its dimensions may be small, still much may be 
done, when good taste and judgment are brought into its 
aid,” 

“ Taste and judgment, and all that sort of thing, do 
very well in a place like this,” said Mrs. Woodby, evi- 
12 * 


138 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


dently quite sore; “ and although* I say it who should not, 
nobody will deny that it was very well done here and 
handsomely too: but really at Ivycote, it is too much to 
expect great things there ” 

“La! mamma, you mistake,” exclaimed Anne Wood- 
by. “ Miss Fanny, you know, said it was to be in the 
petit line; and that is the contrary of great. You know 
we danced in the great vat at the brewery at Liverpool 
— at Edward Manby’s uncle’s, I mean — and that was 
small enough in conscience, and still we were all very 
merry.” 

“Well, well, we shall see,” said her mother; “ I am 
sure any thing we can do we shall be happy to do, and 
welcome; and so, Miss Fanny,” addressing her with a 
protecting air, “ pray let us know when you can receive 
us, and we will drive over and hold a consultation on the 
spot.” 

It was settled accordingly, that on the following day 
the ladies present should proceed to luncheon at Ivycote, 
and there decide what might be done. 

When Aunt Fanny and Mary were gone, Mrs. Wood- 
by exclaimed, “ W ell, I can’t think what can possess 
some folks, who have scarcely got enough to make both 
ends meet, to be thinking upon giving of balls! — they 
must be all stark staring mad. i always thought Aunt 
Bab, as they cal! her, to be a sensible sort of body; but 
she is as great a fool as her sister, I declare! As for Mary, 
the niece, she is a poor simpleton, and of course would 
dance any where when she could meet our Tom: but that 
will never do — that’s what it shan’t.” 

“I wish it were so,” thought Ellen in her inmost 
mind. 

“La! mamma, how you do talk,” exclaimed Anne. 
“I declare Mary has no more thoughts of Tom than she 
has of the Lord Mayor; she is a simpleton though, and if 
love is, it is not there.” 

Lady Thomson wound up the conclave by one of her 
knock-me-down speeches, in which she put herself for- 
ward at every turn of sentence, destroying all Mrs. 
Woodby’s vapourings by quoting great names and au- 
thorities — Cheltenham and Bath, and by deciding “ that 
every body knew their own affairs best, and that in jus- 
tice to herself she must say that she made it a point, and 
she laid it down as a rule, never to meddle in the affairs 
of others.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


139 


The next day proved to be one of those hot, suffocating 
days which occasionally seem to make up for a long suc- 
cession of chilling damp weather by a short exhibition of 
concentrated heat. At twelve o’clock Lady Thomson 
and Mrs. Woodby, both presenting a superficies over 
which the sun delights to shed its beams, and the two 
Miss Woodbys, ascended the carriage. . It was long 
since so hot a day had been known. The carriage was 
open, their parasols were open, and so were their pores. 
During the drive, the heat, the dust, and their own un- 
explainable miseries so co-operated to derange the good 
humour in which they had set out, that by the time they 
reached their destination they were more like beings con- 
demned to undergo punishment than reasonable creatures 
proceeding to decide upon the affairs of pleasure. Al- 
though Bab had spread her cleanest tablecloth and her 
most alluring of luncheons, nothing was talked of but the 
heat, the dust, and the miseries of driving to such a dis- 
tance on such a day. 

“Oof!” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby, blowing freely from 
her lungs, and at the same time using her pocket-hand- 
kerchief as an absorbent. “Well, I declare, if 1 had 
known this, nothing should have taken me out this day!” 

“ Really,” said Aunt Barbara with her well-bred quaint- 
ness, “ I am quite sorry that you have been incommoded 
— pray take something to cool you. And you, Lady 
Thomson,” addressing that lady, — is there any thing that 
you would like after your hot drive? ’Twas so good of 
you to come!” 

“ The carriage was so small,” said Lady Thomson, 
“ that really my sleeves have been quite flattened into re- 
gular frights;” and then, dusting herself the while, her 
face being in its bright crimson a counterpart of Mrs. 
Woodby’s she continued, “I do believe that you have 
more dust in this part of the country than in any other: 
your roads ought really to be endited — it is such white 
dust too!” 

“My bonnet will be spoiled,” exclaimed Anne as she 
blew off the dust and adjusted the ribands.” 

“ I am sure I don’t care about mine,” said Ellen. 

The falling of the wind stops the raging of the sea: so 
a cool parlour and appropriate refreshments helped much 
to allay the heat of body and irritation of mind of the 
oppressed ladies. But as a swell continues to upheave 
the waters long after the storm has ceased, so did the 


140 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


soothing attentions which they received mitigate, but not 
entirely remove the irritation. That this was the case was 
evident as soon as Aunt Fanny led Mrs. Woodby and 
Lady Thomson to the spot where their ingenuity was to be 
exercised. 

“Did not I tell you that there was not room enough 
here to turn about in, much less to dance? I don’t think 
you ever can make any thing out of this.” 

“ Then allow me to say you’re mistaken,” said Lady 
Thomson. “ Have not I seen a fete champetre given in 
a little back garden in many a street in Bath? and why 
it should not be given here, I do not see. — We shall do 
vastly well,” she added, turning towards Aunt Fanny, 
“and you ’ll be able to get up something mighty tasty. I 
think you might throw out a temporary room out of that 
window (pointing to the one which threw light upon the 
homely staircase,) which might be filled up with dra- 
peries, and statues, and candelabras, and those sort of 
things. But, my dear, to do that you must pull down 
that horrid fright, of a chimney — that stands terribly in 
the way.” 

“ Pull down the kitchen chimney?” exclaimed Aunt Bab 
in an agony of fright. 

“Ay, my dear,” said the inexorable Lady Thomson, 
standing with her hands resting on each hip, “ indeed you 
must — down comes that chimney as sure as fate.” 

“ But it can’t be,” said poor Aunt Bab, turning with 
dismay towards Mrs. Woodby; “you know we must have 
our chimney.” 

“Your chimney! ah, to be sure,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Woodby, tossing up her nose in triumph, “ to be sure you 
must have your chimney! It does not signify talking, 
Lady Thomson; I told you before, and I say so now, that 
you .might as well try to dance in the pigsties at Belve- 
dere Hall as to get up a ball here.” 

“You surely are not going to put your judgment in 
competition with mine!” said the other; “upon such mat- 
ters mine was never doubted. ! would not allow that 
chimney to stand if I were to die for it: injustice to my- 
self, I would not.” 

“ Some people may think themselves mighty clever,” 
retorted Mrs. Woodby, “and knock people’s chimneys 
about as if they were so many nine-pins; but I am sure 
they should not knock mine about. After having given 
a thing myself, l may be allowed to have an opinion.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


141 

In this manner did these two authorities upon taste de- 
bate, until they had excited their respective tempers into 
such a state of animosity that it made the quiet possessors 
or the chimney in dispute seriously wish that they would 
leave the house without further discussion. Aunt Bab 
undertook to sooth Lady Thomson by admitting that the 
chimney was in the way; Aunt Fanny agreed with Mrs. 
Wood by that the place was small, and gave every supe- 
riority she could desire to Belvedere; whilst Mary enter- 
tained the Miss Woodbys upon such subjects as are apt 
to fill the minds of young ladies when dress and dancing 
are in the wind, until the carriage was ordered, and the 
visiters returned whence they came. 


CHAPTER XX. 

When misfortunes occur , they are often sent at such times as to pro- 
duce the strongest impression. 

Although Aunt Bab had been not a little frightened 
at the destructive propensities exhibited by Lady Thom- 
son as a preliminary to the festivities in contemplation, 
and out of affection for the old family chimney had almost 
resolved in her mind to give up all idea of carrying the 
project further, yet, upon canvassing the subject more in 
detail, she found that the village anti the country in gene- 
ral were already so much ‘up’ about it, as it is said, that 
she found it impossible to secede without incurring all 
sorts of discreditable imputations. To knock down the 
chimney was impossible, — in short, the whole family cried 
out shame at the very idea; but Aunt Fanny’s mind had 
been so much bitten by the alluring prospect of a tempo- 
rary room with draperies and festoons, that it was deter- 
mined, instead of turning the great cistern into an orches- 
tra, to erect, the said piece of finery upon it, and disman- 
tling the staircase window, thus give an easy access, and 
secure an appropriate place for- the display of the supper. 
They also hoped thus to conciliate Lady Thomson, and 
at the same time to secure the quiet possession of the 
chimney. Uncle Abel shook his head as he turned over 
the costs in his own mind; but the event was now become 


142 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


inevitable: reason, common sense, and, what was still 
more urgent, the banker’s book — every thing opposed it; 
but what fortitude was ever able to stand against the wishes 
of women, influential servants, the butcher and chandler 
and baker’s wives, and, what is still more irresistible, — 
“What will the world say?” 

The peaceable mansion of Ivycote all at once became 
the abode of noisy masons and carpenters; the lawn and 
grounds were usurped by arbiters of taste; drapers and 
dealers in tinsel hung about the unpretending apartments, 
and cooks took possession of every avenue leading to the 
kitchen. 

The important affair of invitations and the issuing of 
cards occupied the inmates. The discussions to which 
this subject gave rise were, as usual, long and various. 
Aunt Bab was for asking every body, for her generous 
heart scarcely would admit of distinctions, particularly of 
those distinctions which afflict the souls of those whom 
the world call select; but Aunt Fanny was determined to 
be genteel, and therefore her exclusions were advanced 
with the utmost pertinacity. When Mary, with all hu- 
mility, put in a word in favour of little Betsy Cruikshank, 
the village attorney's daughter, who she avowed, had 
never danced but to the sound of a boy’s whistling, and 
who longed to be present at a real ball, Aunt Fanny ex- 
claimed that that could never be; because that, if little 
Betsy came, then the Silverstops and Thickentales would 
expect to be invited too; and if they came, all the parish 
must come, and then all the neighbourhood would be of- 
fended. The utmost she could grant to Mary’s petition 
was, that Betsy might be allowed to come in and help to 
‘wash up;’ and then if an opportunity should otter, she 
mightjoe thrust into a country dance and welcome, pro- 
vided always that her hands were not too hot, and that she 
did not make too much of a clatter with her heels in foot- 
ing it. 

It had been settled by the authorities of Belvedere that 
the most appropriate word as applied to existing cir- 
cumstances would be a * breakfast,’ and with that indefi- 
nite designation the invitations were issued. It would 
require the jargon of a newspaper writer to describe the 
complete transmutation that took place both in the exte- 
rior and the interior of the homely cottage of the Allnutts, 
now that it was prepared for the promised festivities. He 
would inform you “ that the tasty and elegant suite thrown 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


143 


open on this occasion consisted of the hall, the drawing- 
room, the breakfast-parlour, and the dining-room; the one 
ornamented with exotics of the most costly character; the 
next fitted up with draperies a V antique , resplendent 
with mirrors and or-molu; the third, a bijou, fascinating 
the senses by its exquisite, models of art and virtu; and 
the fourth exhibiting to the astonished eye all that could 
entice the palate and excite the appetite, the viands being 
provided without any consideration to expense, the wines 
of the first-rate description, and the fruits so choice and 
various that none but royalty could ever expect to vie 
with either their quality or profusion.” He would then 
go on to describe the temporary dancing-room where 
Terpsichore was expected to appear on the ‘ light fantastic 
toe,’ and the lawns laid out more like the Garden of the 
Hesperides than any thing that could at present be pro- 
duced in this sublunary scene. — But we will return 
to plain prose, to say that the snug cottage had been 
turned into the most tawdry, vulgar, and uncomfortable 
habitation that the imagination can conceive, but which to 
the eyes and imagination of its possessors appeared the 
ne plus ultra of fashion and magnificence. Aunt Bab ap- 
plauded the surprising art of the cooks; Fanny roamed 
with exultation through the flowers and draperies; Mary 
bounded about with all the joyousness of a child; and even 
Uncle Abel himself seemed to catch the infection, and 
wondered how the decrepid mahogany, the old black-bot- 
tomed chairs, the threadbare carpets, the washed-out cur- 
tains, had disappeared, and how they had been replaced 
by bright colours and shining furniture. As for the ser- 
vants, they seemed to be at their wits 9 ends. Old Betty 
did nothing but escort the gaping neighbours in long pro- 
cessions to view the wonders of the place; whilst honest 
Brown looked more alarmed than charmed at an event 
which seemed to place his humble exterior at variance 
with the splendour of the house. Mrs. Chaw, as she 
viewed the display, promised to herself to increase her 
prices; the butcher’s wife hoped for a future increase of 
custom; and Mrs. Humphries flattered herself that she 
might demand an advance of salary. Merriday, the 
schoolmaster, planned a copy of verses; and Cruikshank 
looking grave, thought that something might be forthcom- 
ing for his profession. 

The morning at length came, and every thing beamed 
with pleasure and gaiety at Ivycote. Aunt Bab wore her 


144 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


grey gown; Aunt Fanny did her best to revive the last 
remains of her beauty by enlisting every bit of finery 
which her wardrobe could afford to her aid; and Mary, 
whose thoughts would involuntarily revert to Edward 
Manby at every glance which she cast on her glass, came 
to the scene of action brilliant in youth and beauty, and 
graceful in simplicity of attire. Lady Thompson, who 
gave herself the airs of lady patroness, accompanied by 
the Wood by a, were the first to arrive, and were soon 
followed by a long train of company, who all seemed 
to be bursting with curiosity to see what could be done 
by the Allnutts in their nutshell. Various were the spe- 
culations on foot regarding this new position which they 
had taken ; for they had hitherto lived in such perfect se- 
clusion, that their names, which once were well known 
throughout the country, had almost been entirely forgot- 
ten. Some of the old people who remembered the family 
well went through their genealogy, their marriages and 
intermarriages, with learned exactitude; gave the history 
of their ruin and downfall, and now wondered at their 
rise. Others. criticised with all the candour of envy and 
malevolence, and while they professed to admire, finished 
by condemning. The good-natured hoped that their li- 
berality would not be misplaced; those who were not so, 
condemned this display as ostentatious and ill-judged, 
and, considering their scanty means, as even wicked. 

‘‘If they think to catch Tom Wood by for Mary,” said 
one Mrs. Candour to Mrs. Gossipall, “ although she is no 
doubt a pretty girl, they will be wofully mistaken; — Tom 
is not such a fool. Besides, Mrs. Wood by and Lady 
Thomson are determined he shall get something in return 
for the fortune he is to have. No family knows better how 
many ounces go to a pound than the Wood by s.” 

“ She is pretty,” said the other; “ but, la ! what is beauty 
after all? doesn’t it come one day and go the other ? Look 
at old Fanny — she was once a beauty, but what is now 
left only serves to make a fool of her and the laughing- 
stock of all the county.” 

In the mean while;, the business of the day began with 
every appearance of the most decided success. The plea- 
sures which it was about to bring forth were sanctified by 
acts of charity to the poor, and by a substantial meal to" 
the charity children, in the superintendence of which 
Aunt Bab shone conspicuous, whilst she left the care of 
the gaieties to her sister and niece. As the day wore away, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


145 


and when the time for dancing had arrived, the music 
struck up, and the scene assumed an appearance of the 
most lively gaiety and bustle. Edward, to the mortifica- 
tion of his rival Tom, had secured Mary for his partner; 
and never were two mortals happier than they during the 
time which they passed in each other’s society. So exhila- 
rating was the scene, that Abel himself, forgetting the 
cold calculations of prudence, seemed to have been 
changed into another being. He was attentive to every 
body’s wants, and seemed to take pleasure in doing all in 
his power to promote the pleasures of the day. 

He was in the very act of plunging his knife into a large 
pasty, when honest Brown, without any of that tact which 
men of his cloth are apt to possess, thrust into his hand a 
letter, which had been brought by the postman. Abel 
glanced at it, and discovered that it bore upon it the Lon- 
don post-mark, and that it came from his banker. Mr. 
Woodby, who was present, and who had been eagerly 
waiting for his share of the pasty, also cast his eye upon 
the letter, which, practised as he was in such matters, 
equally told him came from a London banker. Had any 
keen observer been present to have watched the counte- 
nances of both these men upon a circumstance which ap- 
parently was of small importance, he would have re- 
marked expressions very remote from those of indifference. 
Approaching misfortunes frequently cast their shadows 
before — the rnind, apprehensive of evil, is ever on the 
watch— Abel looked disturbed, and without exactly know- 
ing why, he almost feared to open the letter. Woodby 
put on a look of entire carelessness, and vociferated for 
his share of the pasty with unusual merriment. Neither 
Bab nor Fanny had seen the arrival of the letter — Abel 
alone, besides the bearer thereof and Mr. Woodby, was 
aware of its existence, and he had sufficient power over 
himself to continue his duties at the table until he could 
unobserved absent himself: he then glided into his bed- 
room, and locking the door after him, read as follows: — 

“ Lombard-street. 

“ To Abel Allnut, Esq. 

“Sir, — We have the honour to inform you, for your 
government, that by a recent communication made to us 
by Messrs. Baggs and Bubbleby, agents for the Mexican 
Loan, of which you are a shareholder, they inform us that 

Vol. I — 


146 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the payments on account of the dividends upon that loan 
have been suspended, and will so continue until further 
notice. “ We are, Sir, 

“ Your obedient humble servants, 

“ Longheads & Co.” 

His eyes scarcely served him to read to the end of this 
short letter: they seemed to have lost their power; as he 
held it in his hand, it appeared like a blank piece of paper, 
and he stood like one dreaming with his eyes open. The 
scene which he had just left, the noises which rang in his 
ears, the transition from merriment to despair brought on 
by the reception of this letter, had so bewildered his 
senses, that in vain he endeavoured to recollect himself — > 
could not shake himself from the conviction that he was 
dreaming. At length, slowly recovering, the whole truth 
broke upon him in all its horror: all that he had so often 
in the silence of his heart anticipated, was come to pass; 
their short-lived prosperity was over, and ruin had over- 
taken them. He read the letter over and over again, slowly 
meditating over each word; and then, when satisfied that 
he could not be mistaken, he sank upon his knees and 
poured out his heart in feelings of resignation to the Au- 
thor of his being. He prayed earnestly for a renewal ot 
strength in support of the weakness and frailty of his na- 
ture, and much did he require it at that particular moment; 
for the noise of music and revelry which rose from below, 
acting upon his frenzied mind like the spur applied to the 
sides of the galled and distressed steed, would nearly have 
deprived him of reason, had he not had recourse to that 
only elfectual source of comfort. He arose calm and col- 
lected, folded up the fatal letter with firmness of demean- 
our, and then returned to the festive scene with the de- 
termination to allow nothing to disturb its continuation to 
the last. He would have looked gay, had it been in his 
power; but he could not shake oft' the grave look which, 
in spite of himself, had taken possession of his face. On 
his return to the table, Mr. Woodby was the first to read 
his looks, and he could too well explain the cause of their 
altered appearance; but instead of respecting the grief 
which he knew must exist in his breast, the unfeeling, 
vulgar-minded man, by way of a blind, exclaimed as he 
filled a bumper, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to 
propose a toast: here’s a health to Major Allnutt, and suc- 
cess to Mexico!” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


147 


These words were caught up and echoed back with en- 
thusiasm by every one present, for all were anxious to ex- 
press feelings of good-will towards their hosts; but they 
acted upon Abel like a shock of palsy. He could scarce- 
ly master his wounded feelings: the sense of the ruin which 
hung over him and his sisters, and which was so much ac- 
celerated by the heavy expenses which they had incurred 
on this occasion, rushed upon his mind with such hideous 
forebodings of imagination, that, instead of returning Mr. 
Woodby’s compliment and the kind greetings of his friends, 
he sat insensible and unmoved. He only recovered when 
he heard Barbara’s voice exclaiming, with an unusual tone 
of merriment in its accent, “ Abel, what is the matter with 
you ! don’t you hear? — arn’t you more than flattered? It 
is your turn to speak: if ever you were merry in your life, 
now is your time.” 

The stricken man, making one desperate effort over him- 
self, filled up to his own drinking a bumper of wine, which 
on other occasions he never touched, and drinking it off, 
roared out in a manner which astonished every one, a rhap- 
sody of words more like the ravings of a madman than the 
calm self-possession of an orator; and these having been re- 
ceived as an expression of his thanks, ail the world were 
agreed that gaiety had done Mr. Allnutt a vast deal of 
good, and that there was nothing like dissipation to bring 
out a man’s latent energies. The wine, however, which he 
had thus drunk produced a useful effect — it brought on hea- 
vy stupefaction, which kept his senses in a dreaming state, 
and thus preserved him from dwelling upon the sad reali- 
ty of his position. He soon became a source of merriment 
to the more sober guests. His sisters were surprised; but 
attributing this excess to the temptation of being convivial, 
they smiled, when before they would have been horrified, 
and therefore left him to himself. But Mary, whose 
whole heart was wrapt in her affection for her uncle, and 
who, having seen him return to table after his visit to his 
bed-room, had remarked the change which had taken 
place in Ids countenance and appearance, and had also 
paid attention to his subsequent conduct. She felt a bit- 
ter pang on perceiving his situation, and became alarmed 
that all was not right — that something of serious import 
must have happened so suddenly to produce such a change. 
Forgetting the delight of Edward’s conversation, she hung 
about Abel for the rest of the evening, and endeavoured 
by her questions and entreaties to discover what could have 


146 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


happened. Was he well? had he received any bad neWsr 
had he heard any thing from her father? All these ques-. 
tions she asked in their turn; but she received no other 
answer than a doleful shake of the head. 

At length the festivities with the day drew to a close. 
As the last carriage drove off, Aunt Fanny, as if antici- 
pating futurity, exclaimed with a sigh, “It’s all over!— 
Well, it has been our first, and I suppose will be our last.” 

Aunt Bab was overflowing with joy, for she had re- 
ceived Lady Thomson’s and Mrs. Woodby’s warmest ap- 
probation; the former of whom assured her she had never 
seen any thing better done even at Cheltenham; and the 
latter, without showing the least envy, exclaimed, “ I de- 
clare I could not have done better myself had I set about 
it — and all too without knocking down the chimney!” 

Abel had retreated to his room as early as he could 
with decency; and when his sisters inquired after him, 
Mary with a dejected look remarked that she was afraid 
that her uncle was not well, for that he looked miserable, 
and had gone to his room, she was afraid, with a bad 
headach. 

“It stands to reason,” exclaimed Bab, “that he is not. 
quite right-*— he has never been accustomed to such gay 
doings; and that bumper of wine, which he took off* like 
so much water, it was too much for him! But he will be 
well to-morrow; a good dose of camomile will set him to 
rights if nothing else will, and he shall take it to-morrow 
morning the first thing on getting up.” 

Mary shook her head; Fanny took one long survey of 
the scene of the expired gaiety, and went to bed; Bab 
lingered till the last lights were extinguished, and the 
cottage was again restored to its usual quiet. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


149 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The Mlnutts catch a glimpse of the ruin which awaits 

them. The simple-minded are helpless before the world- 
ly wise . 

Abel passed a sleepless night; his mind was filled with 
apprehension for the future, and owing to his inexperience 
of the world and his ignorance of what is called business, 
he was uncertain what might be the extent of the misfortune 
so inopportunely announced to him. The length of time 
which had elapsed since he had received tidings of his bro- 
ther added much to his present affliction; for to his advice 
he would naturally have had recourse. Trying in vain to 
seek some relief to his anxiety by sleep, almost ere the day 
had dawned he arose, dressed himself, and leaving his bed- 
room, with noiseless steps descended into the rooms below; 
and there the traces of the late scene of gaiety and feasting 
were spread far and wide as if to upbraid him for having sanc- 
tioned so much folly, waste, and extravagance. He wan- 
dered over the deserted, dusty, and gaudy rooms, and glided 
by the disordered tables spread over with the remnants of 
the supper, like the Genius of Desolation hovering over de- 
parted grandeur. “ What will become of us all!” he would 
frequently exclaim in mental agony; and then recovering 
himself, would again with folded hands reverently exclaim, 
“ God’s will be done!” He apprehended evils greater in 
magnitude than perhaps they really were, and looked upon 
immediate starvation as a matter of course after the imme- 
diate loss of revenue. In his own mind, so far as regarded 
himself, he determined to gain his bread without shrinking 
from the humiliation; but when he reflected upon the situa- 
tion of his sisters and niece, he wrung his hands in despair 
— for what could they do? 

Marv was the first to make her appearance; but as she 
came bounding down the staircase into the parlour, her 
steps were suddenly arrested by observing the wan and 
woe-stricken looks of her uncle. She paused, and ap- 
proaching him with caution, took his hand, and inquiring 
after his health, looked into his face with a beseeching look. 
Abel was not prepared to answer her questions, but inquired 
whether her aunts were likely soon to appear. Mary im- 
mediately ran up to hasten their steps, saying “ that she 
Vol I.— 13 


150 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


was afraicl her uncle was not well, and that he required 
their immediate attendance.” Barbara very soon appeared, 
followed by Faiiny; the one bent upon exerting her best 
medical skill, and the other fearful lest so doleful a result 
should be a bar to future gaiety: but they no sooner began 
to ascertain the nature of his disorder, than he stopped all 
further proceedings by taking the fatal letter from his pocket 
and desiring Barbara to read it. 

“ What can this mean?” said she; catching the apprehen- 
sion expressed in Abel’s face: “ what has happened? Is 
John dead?” 

“ Read,” said Abel; “ you will soon see.” 

Barbara read aloud: “ Sir, — We have the honour to inform 
you for your government — ” 

“For your government exclaimed Bab; “that can’t be 
for you. You may be certain that here is some mistake.” 

“ Read on,” said Abel. 

Barbara read to the end of the letter, and then pondering 
for some time, she said: “ You may be certain that you are 
under a mistake. You are told here that the information 
given is ‘ for your government .’ — Does it not stand to rea- 
son, that if it is for the Government, it is not for you?” 

“ What have I to do with Government?” said Abel des- 
pondingly. 

“ Who knows?” said Bab; “ you may have a great deal 
to do — you may be somebody without your knowing it. 
Why should these men tell you that they write for your 
Government? — they must have some meaning in what they 
say.” 

“ It may be a banker’s phrase,” said Abel, “ the mean- 
ing of which you know nothing about. But the long and 
short of it is, that the payment of our dividends is stopped, 
and that we have at present no means of paying for our 
daily bread: we are paupers.” 

“ Paupers!” exclaimed Fanny in utter dismay. 

“ Paupers?” echoed Bab; and then pausing awhile, she 
continued, saying: “ But this can never be! Abel, you must 
be out of your senses! Consider a little. This letter does 
not come from John. When we hear him tell us that we 
are paupers, then I will believe it, but not till then; he surely 
never would have planned our ruin, and therefore why 
should we believe what the foolish bankers write? Be- 
lieve me, you must be a Government man without your 
knowing it.” 

“ What have the bankers to do with John?” retorted Abel; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


151 


“ ^ ie i r business is with us and our money. If they do not 
choose to make us any more payments, which they here say 
they will not, then we starve: nothing can be clearer.” 

“ But this can never be!” again exclaimed Barbara, ap- 
parently struck by a bright thought: “ if somebody is not to be 
paid, it is Mr. Woodby: he it was who managed the business 
lor us, and he ought to suffer — it stands to reason that he 
ought.” 

“ My dear Barbara,” said Abel with the deepest tone of 
resignation, “ if it be God’s will that we meet with mis- 
fortunes, do not let us repine, or lay blame where none ex- 
ists; but rather let us receive the blow with fortitude. As 
for Mr. Woodby ’s share in the transaction, he advised us 
for the best; we sought him, he did not seek us: and as I 
dare say he will advise us for the best again, being conver- 
sant in money transactions, it is my opinion that we imme- 
diately lay our case before him and be guided in our conduct 
by what he may advise.” 

“ Let us go instantly,” said Barbara, highly excited by 
apprehension of the impending ruin, but still secretly 
cherishing a conviction that her first impression upon read- 
ing the bankers’ letter was the true one. “ I am sure there is 
something more'in those words about the Government , Abel,” 
she added, “ than you are aware of. I should not be sur- 
prised if John had made you a man of consequence with- 
out your knowing it. Who knows! you may be treasurer, 
or overseer, or some such thing to Mexico; and the bankers 
may be privy to it although you are not. But let us go to 
Mr. Woodby: I dare say he will know all about it, and tell 
us how we may take the law of the Mexican Government; 
for it stands to reason that something must be done.” 

During this conversation Aunt Fanny’s face had gradually 
been lengthening its features, until scarcely able to control 
her feelings at this sudden prospect of ruin, she exclaimed, 
“Barbara, you wouldn’t surely tell Mr. Woodby? Why Mrs. 
Woodby, and LadyThomson, and all the parish will know it 
before the day is over. What will they say? and just after 
the balls, too!” 

“Fanny,” said Abel, “be not a child! the first step to- 
wards the diminution of misfortune is to know how to bear 
it. Of what use are all the lessons of submission and rer 
signation which our parents taught us from our infancy if 
they are not to be put into practice? Let the world do and 
say what it pleases — let our care be to do what is right.” 

Fanny sat down, looking around her upon the relics of 
yesterday’s gaiety, the picture of despair. Mary crept to 


152 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


her uncle’s side, and with tears shining in her expressive 
eyes; although a melancholy smile was on her face, she 
seemed to say — for she was silent — “ Depend upon me for 
my endeavours to do credit to your instructions!” Her 
mind involuntarily glanced at the thought of possessing in 
Edward Manby a friend who would never desert them in 
their need, and a bright gleam of consolation darted across 
her mind as she made an inward appeal for protection to 
the Author of her being. 

As soon as the necessary preparation for their excursion 
to Belvidere Hall could be made, Barbara and Abel took their 
departure, much to the astonishment of old Betty and the 
servants who had already began to suspect that something 
of importance had occurred. 

They arrived at the house when the family were at break- 
fast, and were straightway ushered into the breakfast room, 
much to the astonishment of every one present excepting 
Mr. Woodby, who no sooner perceived them and caught a 
glimpse of their solemn features than he immediately 
guessed the nature of their errand. Mrs. Woodby and La- 
dy Thomson exchanged glances of astonishment, and then 
began a course of inquiry which extremely puzzled Aunt 
Bab in framing such answers as might at once save her ve- 
racity and preserve her secret. She entrenched herself in 
general assertions, saying that something had occurred which 
had made them seek Mr. Woodby ’s advice upon a point 
of business; that the South Americans had behaved in such 
a shameful manner to them, that they ought to be sued in 
the court of chancery without loss of time. 

Mr. Woodby, having had time to reflect upon the part it 
was expedient to take, and having finished his last cup of 
tea, invited them to follow him into his closet; where hav- 
ing duly pressed them to be seated, he inquired of Abel in 
what manner he might serve him. 

Abel immediately unfolded the bankers’ letter, &nd placed 
it in Mr. Woodby ’s hands; but before he could even adjust 
his spectacles or throw himself into a proper attitude for giv- 
ing advice, Aunt Barbara exclaimed, “ Now this letter 
can’t be for Abel, Mr, Woodby; it is ‘ for his government .’ 
He is either a Government man, or it is nonsense; now is 
it not so?” 

“ Let Mr. Woodby read,” said Abel calmly. 

Woodby read the letter through, and then looking alarm- 
ingly grave, shook his head and said, “ This is an awk* 
ward business,” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


153 


* But what is the meaning of the words l for your gov- 
ernment ', ?’ ” said Barbara with the greatest eagerness of 
look and voice. 

“ That is a mere commercial phrase,” said Woodby, 
“ one that is now almost gone by in good writing, and has 
nothing to do with the main business.” 

Barbara’s face fell into a look of hopeless dejection; for 
greatly as she had been excited by hope, so much the more 
did she now sink into despair. 

“ What is to be done?” said Abel. 

Woodby, making one of those faces which so often indi- 
cate a ponderous oration, and pulling off his spectacles at 
the same time, said, “ Why, you see, these new States have 
as yet but little idea of the sacred nature ofloans, or public 
credit, which is the same thing; and therefore if they can’t 
pay their dividends, why they won’t. A rich country like 
England where the consols yield but little for one’s money, 
and where there is a great accumulation of capital, or indeed 
cash, jumps at a new country that wants what she has got, 
and lends with her eyes blindfolded, as one may say; al- 
though Mexico in truth is good security, because she has 
mines, or gold and silver in the raw state, and will, I make 
no doubt, pay all in good, time, although at present she 
may be a little hard up or so. Therefore, you see, yon may 
feel safe about your money ultimately, although you will get 
none just now.” 

. “ But it is just now that we happen to want it,” said 
Abel; “ for the whole of our fortune is involved in the Mexi- 
can funds, as you well know.” 

“ Yes,” said Barbara, who began to rouse from her state 
of dejection — “ Yes, you must well know it, for you re- 
commended us to place it there, and you insisted upon yield- 
ing to us your shares.” 

“ Yes, madam,” said Woolbv with great self-complacen- 
cy, “I did so; and happy I was to be able to serve a friend, 
particularly after the recommendation of your own brother: 
but everybody is aware that foreign stocks are not like our 
own: they yield more, ’tis true; but then they are ticklish — 
one can’t lay one’s head upon them and go to sleep.” 

“ But you told Abel, Mr. Woodby,” said the pertinacious 
Barbara, “ that putting one’s money in the Mexican funds 
was like eating one’s cake and keeping it too. Now, I am 
afraid that we shall never see it again.” 

“ As for that, ma’am,” said Woodby, looking a shade less 
composed, “ it is true that I thought well of Mexico, and 
13 * 


154 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


do so still, for the country is as full of gold and silver as 
an egg is of meat; but I trusted in their good faith as a na- 
tion or government, and if they don’t know what public 
credit means, am I to blame? if they won’t pay, I can’t 
make them. We should call it being bankrupt, whatever 
they may do.” 

“We are quite aware,” said Abel in a tone of great con- 
ciliation, “ that you did for the best, and advised us for the 
best; and as we are quite sure that you will do so again, 
we are come to seek your advice and to request you to tell 
us what we ought to do. We are ignorant of the nature of 
money transactions, and we request you to instruct us in 
the fittest course to pursue.” 

We do not wish our readers to conclude that there was 
anything in Mr. Woodby’s conduct in the money transaction 
in question which might have been objected to on the Stock 
Exchange, or which would not have been fully acquitted 
before any commercial tribunal; but when he came to con- 
sider that it might be canvassed to his disadvantage in the 
country, and a wrong light thrown upon it, we must be per- 
mitted to assert that the advice which he now gave was ve- 
jry much biassed by selfish considerations. 

“ Why,” said he, again making up a face, “this is an 
awkward business, there is no doubt of that — misfortunes 
at a distance always look greater than they really are. Here 
are you at Ivycote, and your bankers, and your money, and 
all your means of living, are in London, some hundred and 
eighty miles off; and you will be fretting and fussing your- 
selves, daily anxious for news, and daily being disappoint- 
ed. Now, my advice is this: go straight to London — make 
the bankers your object — watch events — wait there till 
things take a turn. In my various transactions in the City, 

I have always remarked, that if things go wrong at one time 
they are sure to come right at another, and particularly in 
stocks: like buckets in a well, if the Bulls were at the top 
at one season, the Bears were sure to be looking out of the 
bucket in the next. So is your business: you may be de- 
pressed now, but all will come right in time. Go to Lon- 
don without loss of time-— look after your own concerns; 
and although I shall be distressed to lose you as a neigh- 
bour, yet still it is better to know you are happy at a dis- 
tance than miserable next door. 

When this speech was over, Abel and Barbara looked at 
each other with mute significancy, so total, so new, and so 
unexpected was the change which such a proceeding would 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


155 


produce in their whole being. They sat dumb for some 
time, until at length Barbara exclaimed, “ Go to London! 
Why, how shall we ever get to London? — and when we are 
there, how are we ever to find our way to the place where 
our Mexican stock is? — we know no one there. Besides, 
how can we ever leave Ivycote? have we not lived here al- 
most all our lives? Every. tie we have in the world is here 
— we know no one except those who live here and here- 
abouts. It will break our hearts to leave our dear home— 
and at my age how am I to acquire new habits? Must we 
positively leave it?” she said with tears in her eyes and with 
a face that would have melted a heart of stone. 

“ We must go, I see that,” said Abel after a long and af- 
fecting pause: “ there is no help for it.” 

“ Indeed,”, said YVoodby, “ there is nothing in London 
that a child might not do. Why, you will like it when you 
have been there a day or two; and a change of scene will 
do you all good for a little while, when let us hope that you 
will come back again to Ivycote better than ever.” 

“ Fanny will like it for one, I see that,” said Bab more 
composed. 

Upon this, the brother and sister took their leave, with 
their hearts and minds full almost to bursting of conflicting 
emotions, but with their determination made up upon the 
necessity of leaving their long-cherished home. Woodby 
saw them depart with no little satisfaction, for in his specu- 
lating mind he could foresee in their absence many circum- 
stances which would turn to his own advantage. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The first introduction of the simple and unpractised to 
the ways of the town . 

When Barbara and Abel returned to the cottage, they 
found Fanny and Mary, with old Betty and honest Brown, 
waiting for them with outstretched necks and faces anxious 
to learn the result of their visit. 

“ We must go to London this minute,” said Bab: “ there 
is nothing else left for it!” 

The extraordinary sensation which this announcement 


156 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


made upon those who heard it may be more easily ima- 
gined than described, when it is recollected that scarcely 
one of them had ever stirred beyond fhe immediate neigh- 
bourhood of their village. “ Go to London!” was Echoed 
and re-echoed by every mouth, whilst each person was im- 
pressed by a different sensation in saying it. 

Fanny cried and laughed by turns with nervous excite- 
ment and bewildering thought; Mary looked at her uncle 
and aunts to catch their feelings, and to adapt herself in rea- 
dy obedience to their wishes; old Betty thought the end of 
the world was about to take place; and honest Brown stood 
stiff, with his hands down his sides, like one impaled. 

Before the day was over — ay, before an hour had 
elapsed, the news had spread all over the village, that the 
South Americans had used Miss Barbara so ill, that she and 
Mr. Abel were going to London immediately to have them 
up before the Chancellor. This having taken place precise- 
ly the day after the ball, naturally made every one suppose 
that this untoward event had occurred during the entertain- 
ment; and to those who were unpractised in geography, it 
appeared that these unmannerly savages had actually been 
insolent to the lady in her own house. 

The character of Abel by this event seemed all at once 
developed into manliness and activity, and he became an in- 
stance of the useful influence which responsibility exercises 
upon the mind. Impressed with a sense of the duties that 
had devolved upon him as the protector of his sisters, he at 
once shook off those habits of seclusion which he had so 
much cherished, and bestirred himself the first aud foremost 
to meet with firmness the ruin that now stared them in the- 
face. He directed everything, provided for every contin- 
gency, and showed himself as full of sagacity as he was, 
alas! of inexperience in the ways of the world. It was con- 
certed between them that he and Barbara should first pro- 
ceed to London in order to d ascertain the position of their 
affairs, and that then they would decide whether to return to 
Ivycote, or, sending for Fanny and Mary, to quit that place 
entirely and establish themselves in London until they could 
reinstate themselves with comfort and respectability. They 
thought it right to take old Cruikshank, the village attor- 
ney, into their councils; who, when he heard of their posi- 
tion, immediately recalled to mind his own prophetical ex- 
clamation upon inspecting the preparations for the ball; and, 
attached as he was to them by long acquaintance, he deter- 
mined to do his best to serve them. He was installed as 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


157 


their agent in case of need; and as he knew that Abel had 
no acquaintance in London who could help him upon a first 
arrival, he gave him a letter to a nephew of his, one Mark 
Woodcock, a youth established as clerk to an eminent so- 
licitor in Lincoln’s inn. 

The short time which elapsed between their determina- 
tion to depart and the moment of getting into the coach that 
was to convey Abel and his sister to London was passed in 
an unceasing expression of hopes and fears, of anticipations 
of pleasure, of apprehensions of danger, such as may be 
supposed to come from innocent minds ignorant, of the 
modes and practices of life in a capital city, and in making 
preparations for a journey which in imagination appeared as 
full of difficulty as an expedition of discovery into the inte- 
rior of Africa. Fanny conceiving that the town men whom 
Barbara was about to encounter were like so many fam- 
ished monsters lying in wait for her, never ceased urging 
the necessity of taking every precaution against their wiles. 
Old Betty only thought of highwaymen and footpads, and 
conceived it impossible that her mistress could ever get safe 
to her journey’s end without being robbed of her trunk, and 
of everything it contained. Abel himself did not exactly 
know what was likely to happen to them on the road, and 
was fully determined to keep his own council upon the bu- 
siness which was taking him to London, lest, should he di- 
vulge it, the nature of his distress might have some effect 
upon the price of stocks. Aunt Bab’s volubility had almost 
forsaken her, owing to the many cares which revolved in 
her mind, in this great undertaking which she was about to 
achieve. 

At length the morning arrived when they were to leave 
their long-cherished home. The coach which was to take 
them up passed by early in the morning on the high-road 
that skirted the village, and thither the whole family went 
in order to witness the phenomenon of Aunt Bab getting 
into a stage-coach. Little was said — their hearts were too 
full to speak; they walked on almost mechanically, each 
wrapped up in melancholy thoughts. Barbara alone seemed 
full of immediate care, for having abandoned the responsi- 
bilities of housekeeper; she was still so full of her old 
avocation, that she did not cease giving directions of what 
was to be done during her absence. When at length she 
and Abel, with their trunks and bundles, were deposited in 
the teeming vehicle, she would have paused on the very 
stepnvith more last words touching a pair of woollen stock-* 


158 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


ings for an old woman, had not the impatient coachman 
urged her in; and before she could finish her speech, she 
was snatched from before the uplifted faces of Fanny, 
Mary, old Betty and honest Brown, with the swiftness of 
the wind — her last words dying in the air as she rolled 
away. 

Being duly seated, they found only one other passenger in 
the inside. He was a sort of person new in his appearance 
to the eyes of both our travellers — a commercial coxcomb, 
aspiring to look like a groom and to speak like a pickpocket, 
overgrown with hair, wearing a coat dotted over with 
pocket-flaps, and squaring his elbows whilst he turned in his 
feet. He was very forward withal; and no sooner had he 
made a survey of the persons of his fellow-travellers, than 
he addressed them in a familiar, off-hand manner. The 
road led in sight of Belvedere Hall; and with scarcely a 
single preliminary observation, he at once commenced his 
observations on all that came before him. 

“ Oh, that’s Belvedere Hall, I believe they call it,” said 
he, addressing himself to Abel; “ it belongs to a sharpish 
old chap, one Goold Woodby, who has coined more gold 
by his wits than ever the slaves in Mexico have done by 
hard labour.” 

“ He has the reputation of being a rich man,” said Abel. 

“ Did the gentleman say anything about Mexico?” said 
Aunt Bab. 

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” said the stranger; “ and I say, 
too, that old Woodby there, in that house we have just 
passed, has jockeyed more people in those outlandish funds 
than can be counted, and has in consequence been promoted 
from the Stock Exchange to this flash house.” 

“ But the Mexican funds have always been thought very 
secure?” said Bab, notwithstanding the jog which she re- 
ceived on her knee from Abel. 

“ None but a spoon would ever think so,” said the 
stranger. 

Bab’s curiosity once excited, she could not stop. And 
pray, sir, how can a spoon think! I never heard of such 
things before.” 

“ Oh, ma’am,” said the other, “ if you don’t know what 
a spoon means, why then take a flat.” 

“ And pray, sir, what may a flat be? I am afraid I am 
ignorant.” 

“ Why, ma’am, whatever you like: a gawk , a nun, a 
ninny— any one of these names will do as well.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


159 


Bab looked at Abel for an explanation, and still appeared 
confused; when the stranger, making a vulgar contortion of 
his mouth at her ignorance, at length exclaimed, “ Why a 
fool, ma’am: you’ll understand that maybe?” 

“ Indeed!” said Bab, making a significant exclamation, 
which she would have followed up by more observations 
had she not been stopped by Abel’s admonitory knee. The 
stranger having fallen upon a subject with the nature of 
which he was fully conversant, (for he was a professional 
traveller for a commercial house,) was happy to be listened 
to as he became communicative. He described the nature 
of the foreign loans then so much the rage throughout the 
country, the juggles to which they gave rise, the rapid for- 
tunes made by the wary and the ruin entailed upon the ig- 
norant; he exposed in vulgar, though significant forms of 
speech, the tricks, the lies, the impositions which were 
practised by the designing upon the weak, and so proved 
the truth of the saying, that * a fool and his money are soon 
parted,’ that poor Abel and his unhappy sister positively 
cowered under the conviction of their folly. They sat si- 
lent, deeply ruminating upon their situation; and so absorbed 
were they in their own thoughts, that they scarcely heeded 
the stranger, who never ceased exhibiting his knowledge of 
the road and of the country as they were rapidly whirled 
along. 

On any other occasion, had Abel and Barbara been free 
from care; and their minds open to’ observe all that was 
passing around them, their reflections would have been 
worth narrating, for there is nothing more amusing than to 
learn the effect of first impressions upon new minds; but 
theirs, upon reaching London, remained almost the same 
blank sheet of paper to which they. might be compared upon 
their departure from Ivycote. Having passed the night in 
the coach, they felt very much jaded as they approached 
the term of their journey, and began to long for the moment 
of their release. The stranger left them at the very begin- 
ning of that interminable labyrinth of streets through which 
a traveller winds at whatever avenue he may enter the great 
metropolis; and upon his exit, when the coachman asked 
Abel where they would please to alight, Barbara would 
have said, “ At the bankers’ in Lombard-street,” so anxious 
was she to attain the object of their journey, had not her bro- 
ther checked her by saying they would go wherever the 
coach stopped, as all inns for the present were alike to 
them. 


160 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Thus they drove on through one never-ending thorough- 
fare into another, until they thought that fate had settled 
them for ever in a stage-coach. In vain they extended their 
necks through either window seeking their long-expected 
resting place — nothing like it was seen: crowds for ever 
succeeded crowds — shops for ever succeeded shops — houses 
for ever succeeded houses — the further they advanced, the 
deeper they seemed to dive into the chaos, until having 
passed a bridge such as their imagination could never con- 
ceive to exist, and seen more masts of ships than could be 
counted, they at length drew up at an obscure inn, ominous 
in name, and mean in appearance, called the Fleece, in the 
Borough. They entered through a narrow gateway, in- 
scribed all over like a geographical register, and found 
themselves in a dark, dismal ^ourt-yard, without perceiving 
a single object within to cheer or enliven them. The heavy 
atmosphere was rendered doubly gloomy by rain, and every- 
thing wore a prison-like appearance. Abel and his sister, 
jaded, depressed in spirits, bewildered by noise and novelty 
at length slowly descended from their confinement. They 
were handed out by a waiter, who received his orders from 
the mistress of the inn, a species of Patagonian Medusa- — 
with this difference, that instead of snakes writhing about 
her head, there protruded a variety of stiffened ribands, 
which darted from her coarse and flushed face like rank 
weeds springing from a foul soil, and she for the present 
became the dispenser of the destinies of our travellers. 
She first inspected them from head to foot, cast her eye 
over the quantity of luggage by which they were accom- 
panied, and having given a contemptuous glance at the tex- 
ture of Aunt Bab’s gown, and the fashion of her bonnet, 
she allowed them to take possession of a small front parlour 
looking into the noisy, disquiet street. Here they inspected 
everything with a sort of dogged curiosity, first the misera- 
ble prints, then the inscriptions on the panels, and looking- 
glass, then the obsolete furniture, until, like mice in a trap, 
they began to peep from behind the green perpendicular 
blinds, and observe what was doing without. Their atten- 
tion was soon diverted by perceiving the lively drama of 
Punch being performed in a little perambulating theatre di- 
rectly before their window, which, by dint of blows inflict- 
ed, and exclamations of passion, and the gravity of an ac- 
companying cat, managed to extract the first smile that had 
broken over the features of the unhappy pair since they 
had left their home. From this they were drawn away by 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


161 


the appearance of breakfast, a meal which they much re- 
quired to recruit their exhausted spirits, and this having 
been duly demolished, Abel insisted upon his sister going 
to her bed-room and taking a few hours’ sleep before they 
sallied forth to seek the abode of the bankers, the one ob- 
ject of their thoughts and wishes. 

Barbara struggled hard to persuade Abel to do the same; 
but he was so alive to the necessity of acquiring some in- 
formation concerning the relative position of places, in order 
that he might not be entirely lost in the excursions they 
were about to make, that he refused her entreaties, although 
in matters of health he was usually tractable to her wishes. 

He then rang the bell for the waiter, a stolid-looking 
youth, with hair growing almost out of his eyes; and with 
a tone of business-like inquiry (for he did not wish to be 
taken for a bumpkin) he said, “ Pray, can you tell me whe- 
ther Longhead the banker lives near here?” 

“ Longhead?” said the waiter, with his hand to his hair. 
“ No, sir, I cant’t say I do; but there’s Mr. Broadhead lives 
over the way, if he will do for you.” 

Abel did not quite make out whether the youth intended 
to make game of him or not; but, nothing abashed, he con- 
tinued, saying, “ No, it’s Mr. Longhead of Lombard-street, 
that I want.” 

“Ah, this is Broadhead of the Borough; so he won’t do.” 

“ But there is such a street as Lombard-street,” said Abel 
as ii he would himself be giving information. “ You know 
that, don’t you?” 

“ I believe there is too,” said the waiter; “ and 1 wish I 
had the picking of it.” 

At length Abel was fairly obliged to ask his way to Lom- 
bard-street; which obliged him to make the discovery that 
he was one totally new to London, and thus at once opened 
the eyes of the waiter as to the sort of personage he had to 
deal with. 

“ Maybe you are a stranger here,” said the waiter. “ If 
so, I say mind your eye, for London is but a queer place for 
the like of you. If you be going to Lombard-street, let me 
recommend you to take care of your pockets when you are 
coming out of it.” 

Abel took the hint, and passed his time until his sister 
should be ready in ruminating over his views. He was 
ever slow to think evil; yet still the conversation which he 
had held with the stranger in the coach concerning Wood- 
by had produced an impression which taught him how ne- 
Vol. I.— 14 


162 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


cessary prudence was in trusting even one’s best friend in 
pecuniary matters. The caution given to him by the waiter 
also checked those feelings of universal philanthropy which 
he had ever cherished, and he began to suspect that the 
love of one’s neighbour, particularly in a capital, was a duty 
which required restriction. He was confirmed in this as he 
took his first walk along the street in order to try how he 
could pick his way, upon hearing some one behind him ex- 
claim, “ Sir, you’ll lose your handkerchief!” 

“Abel immediately felt in his pocket for that commodi- 
ty; but not finding it there, exclaimed, “ But it’s gone!” 

The only consolation he received was the sound of a hoot 
and a laugh from some one who had rapidly disappeared 
round a sharp corner. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

An insight into one of those City commodities called 
‘ a bubbled 

Barbara, refreshed by sleep, sallied out about two 
o’clock with Abel from the Fleece Inn, to seek out Messrs. 
Longhead the bankers in Lombard-street. They took the 
proper direction; but on passing London Bridge, their eyes 
became so fascinated and their attention so riveted by the 
new and various objects which presented themselves, that 
they had almost forgotten the object of their search. After 
having attracted much attention from the passers-by owing 
to their primitive appearance, and after much inquiry, they 
at length succeeded in reaching a dark, unwashed, begrimed- 
looking mansion in Lombard-street, into which they entered 
through a greasy door and found themselves in front of a 
battalion of busy men, not one of whom took the least heed 
of them, but who continued counting out and paying money 
writing and making calculations, as if they were not pre- 
sent. Abel stepped up to one whose face wore a civil ex- 
pression, and having inquired for Mr. Longhead, he was 
desired to proceed into an inner and still darker room, 
where several men were seen also busy in the various la- 
bours of the pen. As soon as our travellers appeared, a 
well-bred gentleman, the acting partner, stepped forward, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


163 


and having offered them seats, seemed by his inquisitive 
look to inquire the object of their visit. Barbara felt relief 
by this act of civility, and Abel seemed to revive from the 
weight of care which oppressed him. They squared them- 
selves in their respective chairs as if announcing their in- 
tention of setting in for a long consultation, although the 
gentleman by certain indications of impatience and hasty 
mode of speech wished to indicate how valuable time was 
to him. 

“ Our name is Allnutt,” said Abel and Barbara both in 
the same breath. 

“ Very happy to see you, Mr. Arnold,” said the banker. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Abel with great modesty; 
“ my name is Allnutt.” 

“ The Allnutts of Ivycote,” added Aunt Bab. 

“ Extremely happy to see you,” said the banker, casting 
his eye towards a book in which he had been writing. “ Can 
I be of any service to you?” 

“ We come,” said Abel, “ in consequence of a letter I 
received;” at the same time drawing from his pocket the 
well-known document, and handing it to the banker, he 
added, “ We wish to be informed what is to be done.” 

“ Oh!” said the banker, opening and glancing on the let- 
ter; “ I see. Yes, just so: there has been a great fall in 
Mexican securities — the panic still continues, and I do not 
believe that you would get anybody even to look at your 
stock although you might be willing to give it away for 
nothing.” 

“ Give it away for nothing!” exclaimed Bab sotto voce. 

“ This is truly unfortunate,” said Abel, looking very 
serious, “ for it involves our whole fortune. Pray, sir, how 
has this come to pass?” 

“ You must be quite aware, sir,” said the banker, “ from 
your knowledge of the world, and of the English world in 
particular, that any novelty accompanied by hope of profit, 
encouraged and abetted by the Government of the country 
as this has been, is sure to turn the whole community, 
otherwise sober, into a nation of madmen. What is good 
in the abstract, becomes vicious in the hands of rogues and 
adventurers. So great was the illusion, that whilst the mad- 
ness was raging, had a project of a loan to any place known 
or unknown in the world — even to the planet Mercury, 
been set on foot, I make no doubt that it would have been 
taken up and filled. With a country holding out the spe- 
cious advantages which New Spain did, there was not a mo- 


166 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


that no one could exist in such a scene of confusion, she 
again exelaimed, “ But where was John?” 

The well-bred banker being at length struck by this often- 
repeated question, turned to the imploring Bab, saying, “ I 
beg your pardon, but pray who is John?” 

“ Dear me!” said Barbara, “ don’t you know who John 
is? Major John Allnutt, our brother, who went out to take 
possession of the mines, and to civilise and introduce steam 
and all that into Mexico — he is John. How is it possible 
that all this should take place and he be there?” 

“ I now recollect,” said the banker; “ he went out direc- 
tor of the Anglo-United-Coffer and Jalap Company — Major 
John Allnutt — I recollect very well — a major of engineers 
— a very ingenious, scientific, enterprising officer.” Bar- 
bara and Abel both cheered up at hearing these words. “ He 
went out with excellent prospects — a large capital sub- 
scribed — shares fit a premium — great quantities of steam- 
engines and Cornish miners also were sent out; but some- 
thing, I think, happened to that company — what was it? I 
recollect something about it.” Then addressing himself 
with an exertion of voice to Mr. Shovel, who sat at a dis- 
tance, he said; “ Mr. Shovel, what happened to the Anglo- 
United-CofFer and Jalap Mining Company? I think so they 
called it.” 

Mr. Shovel, just raising his head a little from his desk, 
said, “There were no such mines to be found, and there- 
fore the company was dissolved;” and then went on again 
with his occupation. 

“The company was dissolved;” said the banker, “and 
therefore, I suppose, you will soon see- your brother back 
in England.” 

This circumstance still more involved Abel and Barbara 
in perplexity, keeping up their spirits, on the one hand, in 
the hope of seeing their brother, but, on the other, destroy- 
ing all the brilliant expectations they had formed of his pros- 
perity and increasing wealth. At length Abel, totally una- 
ble to decide for himself what he ought to do, and seeing in 
the gentleman before him one who showed every inclination 
to be kind and considerate, in that exuberance of confidence 
which the wretched are so apt to bestow upon those who 
they think can protect them; said, “ Sir, I beg your pardon for 
venturing to speak so boldly to you; but might I venture to 
ask what you would do if you were circumstanced as 1 am?” 

The banker, who really was a kind-hearted man, an- 
swered after some hesitation, “ In truth it is always difficult 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


167 


to give advice in individual cases; but so far as the Mexi- 
can question concerns the shareholders, I would say that 
they ought to remain on the spot to second and assist by 
their endeavours the furthering such petitions as they might 
present to parliament to induce the king’s government to in- 
terfere with the Mexicans in order to procure redress. 
Things may change; but experience tells us when the cre- 
dit of a country has once been shaken, as in this instance, 
it takes long to restore confidence. Therefore, I would not 
have you be too sanguine in the hope of being speedily rein- 
stated in your funds; but I would remain on the spot, and 
any assistance which we can afford you, I am sure we shall 
be very happy to put forward.” Upon which making an 
impatient turn in his chair towards his desk, and Abel there- 
by taking the hint to depart, the parties separated with mu- 
tual expressions of civility and compliment. 

The brother and sister upon leaving the banking-house 
walked on in silence for some time, both absorbed in thought 
at all they had heard, until Abel stopped short, and taking his 
sister’s hand, said, “ Barbara, we must send for Fanny and 
Mary immediately: we must stay here.” 

“ Does that stand to reason,. Abel?” said Aunt Bab. 

“ I am afraid it is the only thing we can do, circumstanced 
as we are,” said he, whilst he endeavoured to suppress a deep 
sigh that rose from his breast. 

Barbara in her secret mind partook of his feelings; but 
whether from the kind and civil manner with which they 
had been treated by the banker, or whether from the pros- 
pect of soon seeing John, it is true that at that moment she 
did not view the state of their affairs with the same despond- 
ing eye that Abel- did. She hoped by her brother John’s 
presence that things would all^ome right — for she argued, 
as he knew so much more of worldly matters than they did, 
so he would soon find some means of restoring their for- 
tunes, and therefore she was infinitely more elated than 
Abel. She freely communicated her hopes to him — dwelt 
most emphatically upon the offers of assistance made by the 
banker, expressed great confidence in the never-failing 
resources of John’s genius, and with all the self complacen- 
cy of ignorance acting upon a sanguine temperament, had 
imagined her road to wealth and distinctions before they had 
paced half their steps back to their inn. 

Abel, however, would not permit his sister to live in such 
a state of illusion; he solemnly warned her that she must 
prepare her mind to meet with all the privations and misery 


170 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


that in order to understand him it was necessary to be edu- 
cated in the same school. He had a sharp snipe-like face, 
hair growing straight down his head — a freckled, fair com- 
plexion — light blue eyes, and possessed a cross-made per- 
son, which he attempted to adorn by the dress of fashion, 
but which he in fact succeeded to turn into a most exquisite 
piece of caricature. His uncle had educated him for the 
profession he had adopted, with the exception of superadd- 
ing the knowledge of the French language — a precaution, 
as he said with prophetic foresight which would prepare 
him for whatever might turn up, and which, by the bye, 
persons in the middling ranks of life are apt to look upon 
as an introduction to gentility. 

Mark, although vulgar in the extreme, who, if he were 
tried at the standard of refinement, would be called in round 
terms a blackguard, was nevertheless a good-hearted, well- 
disposed, and serviceable youth. On the occasion now 
before us, he did not hesitate for a moment in obeying his 
uncle’s request to make himself as useful as possible to the 
persons recommended to his care. He hastened with great 
zeal from his lodging, near Lincoln’s-inn, to the Fleece in 
the Borough; and when he got there, feelings of indignation 
rose in his breast when he perceived the obscure place in 
which his friends had settled themselves — for in the City, 
as elsewhere, there are various degrees of comparison touch- 
ing the gentility of situation. He had no sooner made him- 
self known, than he insisted upon Abel and Barbara accom- 
panying him immediately in search of lodgings. Then 
making several curious interjectional exclamations, he said 
addressing himself to Bab, “ But it’s a burning shame that 
they have shoved you into this dog-hole! — why, it’s just 
fit to keep cat’s-meat in, and that’s all!” He then asked 
them where they would like to live. Finsbury square 
he recommended as the flash place in the City, and 
Tower-hill he thought handsome; Broad-street was good, 
but he deprecated Cateaton and Threadneedle-streets, or 
Mincing and Philpot lanes; but asserted that there were 
neat things to be had in the City-road and about Peerless- 
pool. 

Abel and Barbara, who knew as little of one place as they 
did of another, said they did not much care where they 
lived, provided they could occasionally see their bankers, 
and be ready to catch John whenever he appeared; and they 
were soon ready to accompany their guide. Barbara, how- 
ever, having expressed an opinion, that since they were 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


171 


likely to be some time in London, they ought to live in a 
place where their friends might come to see them, Mark, 
all at once striking his head as if a bright thought had en- 
lightened him announced that he had a friend who lived in 
Silver-street, Golden-square, in the West end, which was 
the genteelest place of all; and he was certain that by ap- 
plying to him he would, get them lodgings in his neighbour- 
hood, or perhaps in his very house. 

Barbara was pleased with the sound of these names: to live 
near a Silver street and in a Golden-square appeared to her a 
circumstance so ominous of good, that she almost jumped 
at the idea, and she urged Mark to conduct them thither as 
soon as possible. They fought their way through the 
crowded streets, stopping open-mouthed to look at the 
shops, then turning back to expostulate for being rudely 
pushed about, until they reached the corner of St. Paul’s 
Churchyard, when Barbara, arresting Abel’s progress, came 
to a stand and pulled him on one side to keep him from 
the press, which was more than usually overpowering. 

“ What are we standing here for?” said Mark, turning 
back to seek his companions. 

“ We’ll only wait a bit,” said Barbara, “ till the people 
have come out of that large church.” 

Mark was amazingly tickled by this piece of information; 
but, instead of breaking out into a horse-laugh, he con- 
tented himself out of regard to good manners, merely to 
exclaim between his teeth — “ The old girl is a rum one, 
however!” and invited them to follow him without more 
delay. 

At length they reached the house of Mark’s friend, who 
took them at once to a house in Golden-Square, a respecta- 
ble-looking tenement, with three windows in front and a 
brass-knocker on the door, and here they hired a suite of 
apartments as their future home. 

Whoever has seen the approaches to Silver-street — dismal 
from the surrounding objects, unclean from a neighbour- 
hood of miserable dwellings, and abounding in bad scents 
— and brings to his imagination the fresh, cleanly, fragrant, 
and cheerful Ivycote; will perhaps have some notion of the 
virtue and self-denial exercised by Abel and Barbara in re- 
linquishing the latter for the former abode. But Abel had 
fully made up his mind to put up with every privation and 
to relinquish all comforts until he could retrieve their for- 
tune; and, moreover, in his own person to do his utmost 
to gain a livelihood for himself, his sisters and niece. Bar- 


168 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


that flow from poverty, and to face not only with boldness, 
but with meek resignation, the trials which it was evident 
were preparing for them: his mind, habitually imbued with 
the most serious and religious thoughts, seemed to expand 
into a wider field of gratitude towards the goodness of Pro- 
vidence for deeming him an object sufficiently worthy of 
notice that he should be thus tried in his principles, and he 
endeavoured to instil the same feelings in the mind of his 
sister, who, although an innocent-minded, well-disposed 
creature in the abstract, was apt to be carried away by the 
family failing — a too sanguine hope of enjoying by quick 
transitions the sweets of worldly prosperity. 

Upon reaching their resting-place, Abel determined upon 
sending a note together with old Cruikshank’s letter to Mark 
Woodcock, requesting him to call at the Fleece Inn, for he 
found that without his assistance it would be difficult to se- 
cure proper lodgings, and whilst he was so doing. Aunt 
Bab passed her time in writing a letter to her sister Fanny. 
The reader may perhaps like to see this production: it ran 
as follows: — 

“ My dear Fanny: — As soon as you receive this letter, 
you must begin to prepare to leave Ivycote. We have met 
a most civil, charming, amiable man in Mr. Longhead the 
banker of Lombard-street, who knew John, and called him 
an ingenious officer, and everything that is nice; but he said 
that he was coming home immediately, because he could not 
find the mines that he was sent about. This appears strange; 
but this excellent banker told us, that for the present our 
stock is not worth even giving away — there has been such a 
fall in Mexican securities, as he called them — and recom- 
mends us to fix in London in. order to send petitions to the 
Houses of Parliament that they should attack the South 
Americans for us. Therefore, as we cannot do this at Ivy- 
cote, we must all be here; so begin to prepare: get the plate, 
linen, and clothes together — the groceries too — but never 
mind the cheeses and the bacon, as they must be sold with 
the furniture. Abel will write to Cruikshank about selling 
our things, with the pony, the pigs, and the cow; and then 
we will settle the day when you must set off, for we have 
not got our lodging yet in this immense city, which is some- 
thing more wonderful than I ever thought of, or you either. 
We have got into the Fleece Inn, in the Borough, and have 
written to Cruikshank’s nephew to come to help us taking 
a lodging. Do not think of setting off till you hear from us 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


169 


again. You cannot think how well Abel is! — he sends you 
both a thousand loves. I am ever, 

lt Your affectionate sister, 

“ Barbara Allnutt.” 


CHAPTER XX1Y. 

A cockney described. The advantages of a friend in need. 

The next morning found Abel and Barbara struggling 
with a London fog — a phenomenon it may well be called 
to those who see it for the first time. They groped their 
way from their bed-rooms to the parlour, where they sat 
scarcely able to distinguish each other, enveloped in the 
dense vapour like persons passing through the purifying 
smoke of a lazaretto. Oppressed as they were by this dark- 
ness over the visible world, as well as by the sense of their 
own miseries, they were not a little relieved as the fog 
cleared away to observe their old friend Punch again per- 
forming his antics before their window: it seemed as if he 
had divined their misfortunes and was endeavouring to re- 
lieve them. They were lending all their attention to the 
humour of Ins jokes when Mr. Mark Woodcock was an- 
nounced, and in walked the nephew of old Cruikshank the 
village attorney. We must present him as a rare specimen 
of the true cockney, in mind as well as in person and man- 
ners; being endowed with every prejudice to the most fran- 
tic degree in favour of his own country, and feeling and 
expressing a corresponding contempt for all things that re- 
lated to others. He held it almost as part of his religion, 
that one Englishman could beat three Frenchmen ‘ any day 
of the week,’ as he would say; that roast beef and plum- 
pudding, as representatives of English fare, were dishes 
which put to the blush the genius of French cookery; that all 
other nations were pigs compared to the cleanliness of the 
English; that we rode better and sang better, and had bet- 
ter fruit and better vegetables — in short, that we were in 
every respect more civilised than other people, and that Lon- 
don was the largest and the finest capital in the universe. 
He spoke a language replete with expletives, and so inter- 
mixed with words and idioms to be found in no dictionary, 


170 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


that in order to understand him it was necessary to be edu- 
cated in the same school. He had a sharp snipe-like face, 
hair growing straight down his head — a freckled, fair com- 
plexion — light blue eyes, and possessed a cross-made per- 
son, which he attempted to adorn by the dress of fashion, 
but which he in fact succeeded to turn into a most exquisite 
piece of caricature. His uncle had educated him for the 
profession he had adopted, with the exception of superadd- 
ing the knowledge of the French language — a precaution, 
as he said with prophetic foresight which would prepare 
him for whatever might turn up, and which, by the bye, 
persons in the middling ranks of life are apt to look upon 
as an introduction to gentility. 

Mark, although vulgar in the extreme, who, if he were 
tried at the standard of refinement, would be called in round 
terms a blackguard, was nevertheless a good-hearted, well- 
disposed, and serviceable youth. On the occasion now 
before us, he did not hesitate for a moment in obeying his 
uncle’s request to make himself as useful as possible to the 
persons recommended to his care. He hastened with great 
zeal from his lodging, near Lincoln’s-inn, to the Fleece in 
the Borough; and when he got there, feelings of indignation 
rose in his breast when he perceived the obscure place in 
which his friends had settled themselves — for in the City, 
as elsewhere, there are various degrees of comparison touch- 
ing the gentility of situation. He had no sooner made him- 
self known, than he insisted upon Abel and Barbara accom- 
panying him immediately in search of lodgings. Then 
making several curious interjectional exclamations, he said 
addressing himself to Bab, “ But it’s a burning shame that 
they have shoved you into this dog-hole! — why, it’s just 
fit to keep cat’s-meat in, and that’s all!” He then asked 
them where they would like to live. Finsbury square 
he recommended as the flash place in the City, and 
Tower-hill he thought handsome; Broad-street was good, 
but he deprecated Cateaton and Threadneedle-streets, or 
Mincing and Philpot lanes; but asserted that there were 
neat things to be had in the City-road and about Peerless- 
pool. 

Abel and Barbara, who knew as little of one place as they 
did of another, said they did not much care where they 
lived, provided they Could occasionally see their bankers, 
and be ready to catch John whenever he appeared; and they 
were soon ready to accompany their guide. Barbara, how- 
ever, having expressed an opinion, that since they were 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


171 


likely to be some time in London, they ought to live in a 
place where their friends might come to see them, Mark, 
all at once striking his head as if a bright thought had en- 
lightened him announced that he had a friend who lived in 
Silver-street, Golden-square, in the West end, which was 
the genteelest place of all; and he was certain that by ap- 
plying to him he would, get them lodgings in his neighbour- 
hood, or perhaps in his very house. 

Barbara was pleased with the sound of these names: to live 
near a Silver street and in a Golden-square appeared to her a 
circumstance so ominous of good, that she almost jumped 
at the idea, and she urged Mark to conduct them thither as 
soon as possible. They fought their way through the 
crowded streets, stopping open-mouthed to look at the 
shops, then turning back to expostulate for being rudely 
pushed about, until they reached the corner of St. Paul’s 
Churchyard, when Barbara, arresting Abel’s progress, came 
to a stand and pulled him on one side to keep him from 
the press, which was more than usually overpowering. 

“ What are we standing here for?” said Mark, turning 
back to seek his companions. 

“ We’ll only wait a bit,” said Barbara, “ till the people 
have come out of that large church.” 

Mark was amazingly tickled by this piece of information; 
but, instead of breaking out into a horse-laugh, he con- 
tented himself out of regard to good manners, merely to 
exclaim between his teeth — “ The old girl is a rum one, 
however!” and invited them to follow him without more 
delay. 

At length they reached the house of Mark’s friend, who 
took them at once to a house in Golden-Square, a respecta- 
ble-looking tenement, with three windows in front and a 
brass-knocker on the door, and here they hired a suite of 
apartments as their future home. 

Whoever has seen the approaches to Silver-street — dismal 
from the surrounding objects, unclean from a neighbour- 
hood of miserable dwellings, and abounding in bad scents 
— and brings to his imagination the fresh, cleanly, fragrant, 
and cheerful Ivycote; will perhaps have some notion of the 
virtue and self-denial exercised by Abel and Barbara in re- 
linquishing the latter for the former abode. But Abel had 
fully made up his mind to put up with every privation and 
to relinquish all comforts until he could retrieve their for- 
tune; and, moreover, in his own person to do his utmost 
to gain a livelihood for himself, his sisters and niece. Bar- 


172 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


bara, taking Mark’s word that Golden- square was the head 
quarters of gentility, easily acquiesced in the eligibility of 
her lodgings; and having made their arrangements for 
taking immediate possession, they retraced their steps 
whence they came; in order to return accompanied by their 
goods and chattels. 

Having reached the Fleece, they ordered a hackney-coach, 
and then called for their bill. The waiter brought in that 
inevitable document with a self-sufficient smirk, and deliv- 
ered it with a flourish into Abel’s hand. The sum total 
amounted to a great deal more than he had expected. Cast- 
ing his eye over the items, he discovered, the first day, 
“ To Punch, Is.” and the second the same charge. “ Bar- 
bara,” said he to his sister, “ did you take punch? I am 
sure I did not!” 

“ Punch!” exclaimed Bab; “ what punch? I have drunk 
nothing but water since I have been here!” 

“ They have charged punch twice!” said Abel; “ here 
must be some mistake.” Upon which he rang the bell for 
the waiter. “ We have had no punch!” said Abel in a mild 
tone of voice; “ why is it charged?” . 

“I believe you have, sir,” said the waiter; “but I’ll in- 
quire.” He went out and returned an instant after and said, 
“ Yes, sir, you’ve had Punch twice — once yesterday morn- 
ing, and once this.” 

“ This can never be!” said Abel. “ Pray tell me, where 
had we it?” 

“ Why, you had it at the window there,” said the wait- 
er. “I saw you.” 

“ At the window!” exclaimed Bab and Abel both at the 
same time. “ This is a gross imposition — we cannot allow 
this! — how can you prove it?” said Abel. 

“ The man outside saw you, as well as me,” said the wai- 
ter. “ Why, you wouldn’t enjoy Punch without paying 
for it, would you?” 

“ What do you mean by punch? — you surely don’t mean 
the puppet-show in the street?” said Abel. 

“ Yes, sir, that’s the Punch I mean,” said the waiter with 
the greatest effrontery. 

“ Blow me!” exclaimed Mark, if I ever heard the like of 
this! — this is doing business with a vengeance! She is a 
good one at a pun, however — I will say that for her!” 

“ Call in your mistress,” said Abel to the waiter; “ we 
must settle the matter with her.” 

She soon appeared, and flung into the room with such an 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


173 


air of defiance, and with so red a face, that it was evident 
she was armed at all points for war. She stood with one 
hand on the door, and with the other on her hip, and 
begged to know if anything was wrong. Abel soon told 
his griefs in mild expostulation; asserted that what was done 
for the amusement of all in the street could not be brought 
as a specific charge to him in the house, and finished by an- 
nouncing his determination not to pay such a bill. This de- 
claration was answered by a burst of invective and abuse, ex- 
pressed in language so totally new to the ears of Abel and 
Barbara, that they shrank from her presence like pigeons be- 
fore the hawk. She had recourse to the same line of argu- 
ment which low people invariably adopt — that is, in the first 
place, of giving a definition of the word ‘ gentleman,’ and 
then starting from that point to give large and varied views 
upon things in general. 

“You call yourself a gentleman, I dare say now,” said 
she to Abel, her face and action bespeaking anger and bran- 
dy — “ there’s that” (snapping her fingers at the same time) 
“ for such gentlemen! — A pretty gentleman indeed, as won’t 
pay for what he’s had! You’ve had Punch, and therefore 
you must pay for Punch — that’s flat. I should like to see 
you — ay, and a great deal better than the like of you, try 
to leave my house without paying that bill — ay, and every 
doit of it too! — you’d find that we are not such nincompoops 
as you take us for! And I, a lone widow too, to be insulted 
by such as you!” 

She would have said much more, had not she been stop- 
ped by Mark, who, like one hearing a tune which is fami- 
liar to him, immediately falls to singing it himself, was so 
roused by the sounds of a language which formed part of 
his vocabulary, that at length, unable to contain himself, he 
poured forth all the energies of his eloquence in such a man- 
ner that it startled the landlady, and tended in a great mea- 
sure to check her violence. 

He soon gave her to understand that he was a lawyer; a 
circumstance which blanched her cheek, but fired her eye 
— for the effect which such a person produces upon one of 
the lower class is very much the same as spitting upon hot 
iron, causing it to hiss and to cool atone and the same time. 
She continued her violence, but it was violence on the de- 
fensive, until at length fairly beaten by the sounds of certain 
talismanic words which lawyers are apt to pronounce, she 
retreated under a volley of the most intense abuse. The 
charges of the bill were properly abated; and Abel and Bar- 
Vol. I.— 15 


174 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


bara, conducted by their successful champion, having mount- 
ed the hackney-coach, left the Fleece Inn under the full 
conviction that that emblem had been adopted by some con- 
scientious scoundrel of an innkeeper, who had determined 
to tell no lie, not even by sign. 

It need not be suggested that the landlady, having con- 
cluded from Abel and Barbara’s rustic appearance, and being 
confirmed in her judgment by what she heard from the 
waiter, that they were totally new to London and ignorant 
of its ways, had ingeniously contrived the trick of Punch 
to increase her charges. Let it be said that this circum- 
stance served as a warning to the new-comers to be on their 
guard in all matters portentous of a bill; and as they took 
possession of their new lodgings, they took care to be duly 
informed upon every point which involved to them so 
weighty a consideration. Mark was of the greatest use in 
making their arrangements for housekeeping: he went 
and came, fetched and carried, with the most zealous atten- 
tion; nor did he quit them until he had seen them fairly in- 
stalled and surrounded by the various necessaries of life. 
He then left them after receiving a pressing invitation to 
return the next day; whilst they lost no time in writing let- 
ters to Ivycote, to give the last instructions to Fanny and 
Mary for the pursuit of their journey, accompanied by the 
address of their present abode. 

Abel wrote to Cruikshank, giving him instructions to pro- 
ceed immediately with the sale of the furniture, provisions, 
live and dead stock, at Ivycote, and to dispose of the lease 
of the house upon the best terms, reserving only such things 
as his sister might want. He calculated that with the 
money so produced he would be in possession of a suffi- 
cient sum to enable them to live on in London until some 
turn should take place in their affairs; whilst at the same 
time he determined to discover and to pursue the best 
mode of increasing their means either by the ingenuity of 
their brains, or the industry of their hands. He was deeply 
affected as he wrote this letter; for, during its composition, 
he could not omit revolving in his mind the possibility of 
their being reduced to the greatest straits. Unknown in a 
large capital, and ignorant of its ways, usages, and re- 
sources, he felt how great were the chances of their being 
thrown into the lowest abyss of poverty, and becoming 
beggars and wanderers in the streets. At the same time, 
hope would spring up and dart a ray of consolation athwart 
the dark fears of his breast; for he would cling to the cer- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


175 


tainty of being encompassed in his path by the power of 
a protecting Providence, and would ever and anon call up 
those words, the constant refuge of the wretched, in which 
the holy poet asserts that from youth to old age ‘ he had 
never seen the righteous man forsaken, nor his seed begging 
their bread.’ He attempted all in his power to conceal his 
feelings from his sister, who, excited as she had been by 
novelty, and by the many cares incidental to their new situ- 
ation, had almost forgotten their miseries in their hurry; 
but when she came to a recollection of their true state, and 
when, pen in hand, she was about putting the finishing 
stroke to their former happiness by writing to her sister and 
niece to abandon all and join them, she became quite over- 
whelmed by her grief, and ere she had written five lines, 
she burst out into a violent paroxysm of tears. The brother 
and sister had sat in silence each over their letter; but when 
this burst of woe came to Abel’s ears, so corresponding to 
his own, he could contain himself no longer, and he also 
wept aloud. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Simplicity and silliness combined are the best ingredients 
for making a fool. 

Who, that has ever lived in the small community of a 
country village and its neighbourhood, but must feel how 
great a sensation would be produced by such an incident as 
the breaking up of an establishment like the one at Ivycote, 
and the dispersion of its inhabitants. Ever since the 
memorable day of the abrupt departure of Aunt Bab and 
Uncle Abel, the subject matter of gossip and conversation 
among the high and low, rich and poor, was their motive 
for such a hasty step. The most simple occurrence in a 
city is a subject of marvel to a man in the woods; a dozen 
respectable people may be ruined in one street without its 
being known in the next: whereas, if an old woman loses 
her hereditary pair of bellows in the village, it raises a hue 
and cry all over the hundred. The plain fact of Mexico 
having refused to pay her dividends, when transported into 


176 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the country, was distorted into every absurdity or exaggera- 
tion which ignorance could devise. 

As soon as Fanny had received her sister’s letter, she 
found herself supplied with so excellent a pretext for leaving 
their old abode, and the breaking up of their household, that 
she did not fail to make use of it to whoever chose to hear 
her. Wherever she went, her first words were, “ I am 
going to London in a few days to petition parliament and 
thus along the road, at the alehouse-door — at^the chandler’s 
shop — at the blacksmith’s anvil, and at the plough-tail, 
nothing was spoken of but that Miss Fanny was going to 
London to petition parliament. The object of the petition 
seemed to be entirely absorbed in the high-sounding fact. 
Every one had heard of the losses sustained by the family ; 
but as no one could make out the complicated reasons in- 
volving the history of foreign loans, dividends, and national 
securities, no one ventured to explain them ; therefore they 
remained satisfied with the solitary explanation above 
mentioned. 

The only approach to the truth was made by Betsy 
Cruikshank, who, having heard her father the attorney dis- 
course upon the subject, thought that she might speak her 
mind, and therefore the next time she saw her opposite 
neighbour, Mrs. Humphries the schoolmistress, she was 
heard to say across the road, “Have you heard the news? 
Miss Fanny is going to London to petition parliament.” 

“ What for?” said Mrs. Humphries. 

“Because they say the Mexicans have seized all Mr. 
Abel’s stock.” 

“What stock?” said Mrs. Humphries. 

This question puzzled Betsy, who, pausing a moment, 
said “His live stock, to b_e sure.” 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Humphries, apparently quite satisfied, 
and then very soon after left the care of her school to spread 
about the report ; and thus Betsy’s news, by the end of the 
day, having run through as many variations as a simple tune 
does in modern composition, at length stopped at this 
fact — that the village stocks had been run away with, and 
that Miss Fanny was going to London to petition parlia- 
ment for a new set. 

Ever since the absence of Abel and Barbara, Edward 
Manby had not failed to call constantly at Ivycote. He 
came and went daily, more and more enamoured with the 
^ charms and virtues of Mary ; but Fanny always cherished a 
secret something that those old long-acknowledged beauties 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


177 


of hers would work their way into men’s hearts in spite of 
every obstacle, and that Edward was gradually becoming 
their victim. He was, it is true, very attentive to her; but 
whilst his tongue in accents kind and gentle addressed the 
aunt, his eyes and heart were all with the niece. Mary, 
however much she might be charmed with Edward, and 
however much she might be pleased with his conversation, 
still, in the present circumstances of her family, she felt 
how imperative it was to check those feelings which, if in- 
dulged, might still add to their miseries; and she determined 
to watch the emotions of her heart with the most scrupu- 
lous care, lest in giving way to her partiality she might hold 
out false encouragement to the object of it. She was, more- 
over, oppressed with anxiety concerning her father, from 
whom it was long since she had received any intelligence. 

Edward was seated in the parlonr with Aunt Fanny and 
Mary when Barbara’s second letter arrived. As soon as 
Fanny had read it, and fully understood the pressing nature 
of its contents, although well prepared by the first letter, 
she was seized with one of those hydra-headed fits of 
fussiness which are so apt to disorder a weak mind, and in 
this instance so weak that it had not capacity to take in 
more than one thing at a time. London, a stage-coach, her 
trunk, petition to parliament, her bandbox, a handsome 
banker, Golden-square, her brother John, groceries and 
packing — all these things in rapid confusion arose in her 
mind, and produced such a bewilderment of ideas, that al- 
though she sat fixed in her chair, yet she seemed pulled 
about in fifty different ways at once. She willingly would 
have got up and done all that was necessary at one and the 
same time; but, after a long struggle, she was so fairly over- 
come by the nervous excitement which this call for imme- 
diate action produced, that all she could do was to burst 
into tears, and for a time she freely gave way to violent 
weeping. 

Mary, too, was distressed: she would fain have given 
consolation to her aunt, but it was out of her power to help 
her, so agitated was she by the thousand cares which had 
all at once burst upon her mind. Edward, perceiving that 
women in so forlorn a situation require the prop of man’s 
assistance to carry them through their difficulties, deter- 
mined instantly to make an offer of his services to escort 
them to London, and not to leave them until he had de- 
posited them in the hands of their relations. This he did 
in as delicate a manner as possible (for he feared to appear 

15 * 


178 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


too forward), but at the same time with such a warmth of 
sincerity, that Aunt Fanny and Mary both received imme- 
diate consolation from his proposal. 

There was that in the frank character of Edward which 
inspired unlimited confidence; -and ere a quarter of an hour 
had elapsed he formed a plan of proceedings for them which 
rendered the whole business of the journey easy and agree- 
able. He moreover made himself eminently useful in fur- 
thering Abel’s instructions to old Cruikshank with regard 
to the disposal of the property; and so indefatigable was he 
in his exertions, that on the third day after the receipt of 
Abel and Barbara’s letters they were ready to take their de- 
parture. But before they did this, Fanny thought it right 
to take leave of their friends at Belvedere Hall, and accord- 
ingly drove therefor the last time in the expiring splendour 
of their pony-chaise, with honest Brown for her coachman. 
Mary accompanied her; and although a close observer 
might have observed a deep shade of melancholy on her 
countenance, still that did not diminish the brilliancy of her 
beauty or the charm of her natural and artless manners. 

Those afflicted with extreme, and therefore inconvenient 
sensibility, would have remarked a tone of protection in the 
ladies of the family of Belvedere in their manner of recep- 
tion, which marked how much the depression in Mexican 
securities acted upon their political horizon. Mrs. Wood- 
by, in lieu of that large and well-expanded hand which she 
was wont to thrust forward in former greetings, was satis- 
fied >pn this occasion to adopt the monodactylon form of 
recognition. The young ladies embraced without fervour; 
Miss Ellen scarcely went through the form towards Mary, 
for reasons easily to be guessed; whilst Anne allowed her 
affections for Aunt Fanny to be transferred to her bonnet, 
which part of her head-dress meeting that of the more aged 
spinter’s resembled a shock of helmets rather than the re- 
cognition of friendship. As for lady Thomson, she scarcely 
took any notice of them as they entered the room; for in 
her inmost thoughts she asserted that it was a duty she 
owed to herself on no occasion to increase her acquaintance 
with those who were never likely to be of the least use to 
her. Tom Woodby, on the other hand, since the fall in 
their fortunes, had put himself forward as a great admirer 
of Mary, criticised her beauty and person with the disgust- 
ing tone of a libertine, and to all the vulgar raillery with 
which he was assailed by his sisters he only answered by 
a knowing shake of the head and a licentious leer. 


ABEL ALLNTJTT. 


179 


When Aunt Fanny, in announcing their immediate de- 
parture, had entered into some particulars of that necessity 
which was now so well known to all the country, she ex- 
cited the smiles and significant looks of her auditors, for 
she had been a theme of ridicule rather than an object of 
pity ever since the day of the ball and the family misfor- 
tune. She still endeavoured to make the whole occurrence 
pass off with high-minded indifference; and talked of 
mines, and securities, and Mexico, and her brother John, 
with that sort of air which might have made those believe, 
who did not know the true state of the case, that it only re- 
quired a petition to parliament to set the whole matter to 
rights. She also made known, with perhaps the same sort 
of air that a lady of fashion announces to her friends her 
having taken a house in Grosvenor-Square, that her brother 
and sister had fixed upon the Golden-Square (as she called 
it) as their future abode; never in the least suspecting that 
a place possessing so dazzling a name was scarcely ever 
known in the polite circles. 

“ Golden-Square!” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby; “ is that 
anywhere near the Minories?” 

“ I never heard of the name before,” said Anne; “ it can’t 
be one of the fashionable squares.” 

“ Oh, indeed it is very fashionable,” said Fanny: it is 
close to Silver-street!” giving her word an emphasis which 
denoted great topographical knowledge. 

“ I never heard of Silver-street either,” said Anne; “ I 
wonder at which end of the town it is?” 

“ It is at neither end,” said Fanny, quite bristling up; “it 
is in the middle, where it ought to be.” k * 

“ Then I suppose it may be near one of the inns of court,” 
said Anne. 

“ It is near no inn whatever,” said Fanny still more irate; 
“ it has nothing to do with an inn or the court of an inn. It 
is where all genteel people live, so Babjells me; and so Mark 
Woodcock told her, and he knows, for he has lived in Lon- 
don all his life.” 

Poor Fanny only got herself well laughed at for her as- 
sertions, in the making of which she was mainly impelled 
by the desire of upholding the family dignities and advo- 
cating the measures taken by her brother and sister. Dur- 
ing this discussion, the arrogant Tom had been endeavour- 
ing to engage Mary’s attention, inflating his insignificant 
person into as much importance as it was capable of as- 
suming, and amusing her as he thought by malicious re- 


180 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


marks upon persons of their acquaintance, in which sly 
calumnious hints at Edward Manby’s poverty, parentage, 
and dependent situation were not omitted, and purposely 
brought forward in order to prodyce comparison with his 
own great expectations and personal merits. 

Mary and Fanny rose at the same time to take their leave, 
not very well pleased with the result of their visit; although 
Mrs. Woodby and her daughters said that they hoped soon 
to meet in London, for that it was Mr. Woodby’s intention 
to spend the next season there, as Ellen was to be brought 
out; and she added, “ Since their last visit to Brighton, it 
became quite a matter of duty for them all to go to court, 
noticed as they had been by the king and queen.” 

Mr. Woodby, who had become shy of the Allnutts since 
the catastrophe in the Mexican funds, had designedly ab- 
sented himself during this visit, fearing that he might be 
called upon to make explanations; and when he heard that 
the country was likely to be clear of them for the future, 
and that their house and land were to be disposed of, he 
rejoiced, as it had been a favourite project of his to get 
possession of them, in order to complete the boundary of 
his estate. 

Fanny and Mary having returned to Ivycote, nothing now 
further remained to be done than to make preparations for 
immediate departure. In the contemplation of their reduced 
circumstances, Abel had thought it right to discharge both 
old Betty and honest Brown; but when the moment of the 
ultimate migration arrived, old Betty announced that noth- 
ing would prevent her from accompanying Aunt Fanny and 
her niece; and that, if they could not afford to pay her wages, 
she would serve them for nothing, and wait like them with 
patience for better times. 

Thi’s being agreed to, we will spare the reader the last 
parting from the beloved home of the Allnutts — in which 
he would have sympathised with the grief of Mary and the 
deep regrets of Aunt Fanny, who, wandering aboutthe house 
and premises with aching hearts, bade adieu to every spot 
as if taking leave of old friends — and request him to exert 
his imagination in forming a succession of pictures in which 
the faded spinster with her niece by her side in the coach, 
with Edward Manby assiduous and attentive to them both, 
with faithful Betty in the remaining corner, are first driving 
with reckless speed along the turnpike-road — then catching 
hasty mouthfuls from tables spread at stated intervals — then 
becoming jaded and way-worn at the close of day — then 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


181 


nodding with unrefreshing slumbers during the night — until 
at length the day having dawned, they are aroused from' 
sleep by a friendly hand pointing to a dark, yellow, slug- 
gish-looking mass of heavy vapour, and exclaiming: “ There 
— there is London!” 

At length the coach stopped in London itself; and whilst 
Fanny and Mary were opening their eyes at the strange 
things which surrounded them, and at the variety of new 
faces which were collected, on a sudden they were greeted 
by the sound of a well-known voice, and then, to their ex- 
treme joy, they saw Uncle Abel. Mary would have jumped 
into his arms, and almost screamed with delight; Fanny 
collected herself into as becoming an attitude as she could 
before so many strangers; while Edward Manby was un- 
ceasing in his exertions to collect their luggage, to satisfy 
the numerous demands for shillings and sixpences, and at 
length to deposit them in the hackney-coach which was to 
convey them to Golden-square. 

We will not, for the present, advert to the thousand and 
one things which the brother, sisters, and niece, had to say 
to each other upon their first meeting; although in truth, 
admirers as we are of genuine fueling and unsophisticated 
nature in all its various shades and departments, we would 
willingly have collected their remarks, exclamations, say- 
ings, and doings, for the gratification of those who might 
sympathise with us in our admiration, but we wish to put 
the reader right upon the state of feeling which existed be- 
tween Mary and Edward. 

From the commencement of their acquaintance to the 
present moment, their admiration had been progressive and 
reciprocal; and it had stopped at the point where lovers pro- 
fess that they feel like brother and sister. Edward, how- 
ever, had in truth proceeded beyond that point in his love, 
and, so intense was his admiration, and genuine his since- 
rity, that we believe he would willingly have subjected him- 
self to any test to prove it; but the present forlorn situation 
of the family, and the position of Mary herself, who, with- 
out the sanction of her father, he knew would not bind her- 
self to any one, combined to keep his feelings in check, and 
he restricted himself to demonstrations of the greatest devo- 
tion to her and to those who surrounded her. Mary, as we 
said before, watched over her feelings with circumspection; 
but her prudence served only to smother a flame which 
might break out upon the first great excitement. 


182 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Misfortune sharpens the wits. Need makes the old wife 
to trot. 

Barbara anti Abel, ever since their settlement in Golden- 
square, held daily conferences upon what they could do 
in order to procure themselves the means of gaining an in- 
dependent livelihood. When they came to cast up the re- 
sult of their different capabilities, they ascertained that Bar- 
bara had excellent notions of cookery and could make per- 
fect pickles and preserves: that Fanny had a great knack at 
fancy-work, and showed much talent for the inventions of 
pincushions; that Mary might, with some teaching, become 
a governess; and that Abel could undertake to teach the 
German flute. 

Mark Woodcock had been called in to give his opinion; 
but his powers of invention were small, and did not reach 
beyond the mode of making attorneys and attorneys’" clerks. 
However, w'hen he exerted his’ recollection, it occurred to 
him that, by great exertion among his friends, he might pos- 
sibly secure to Abel the situation of secretary to the club of 
Jolly Fellows, held weekly in a tavern in Covent Garden, 
where he would have an opportunity of forming a wide ac- 
quaintance which might assist him in his views. Abel was 
fearful that his abstemious habits would render him ineligi- 
ble for the situation; but still, rather than allow his sisters to 
starve, he was ready to undertake the necessary acts of con- 
viviality: the scheme, however, was allowed to lie over for 
further consideration. 

When Edward came, he also was asked to assist them 
with his suggestions; for although he did not habitually live 
much in London, yet he was acquainted with its ways and 
means, and had acquired some knowledge of the literary 
market, in which he had occasionally been himself a specu- 
lator. Happy would he have been to share his small pit- 
tance with his friends, for small indeed it was; but his pros- 
pects also consisted mainly in his own ingenuity and indus- 
try; and although for the present he was poor, yet still he 
hoped in time to hit upon some mode of gaining an indepen- 
dent livelihood. Having, like many young authors, made 
his first essays in the periodical publications of the day, he 
stated it as his opinion, that a very tolerable livelihood might 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


183 


be gained in literature, provided talent and industry went 
hand in hand; and, moreover, furnished the direction of a 
bookseller living not far from Golden-square, who was ever 
ready to offer fair remuneration for the lighter kinds of com- 
position, — poetry, tales, pointed anecdotes, or descriptive 
sketches. “At least,” added Edward, “I found him so 
disposed three years ago!” 

This hint was sufficient to set the brains of the sisters, 
the brother, and the niece, immediately at work. They 
thought long and oft, but nothing came. The process of sit- 
ting down to make a fortune without any more materials 
than a head, pen and ink, and a piece of paper, seemed to 
them so very simple that they all decided it was much more 
agreeable to do so than to cross the seas to dig for gold in 
Mexico. What so charming, thought they, as getting, in 
return for a few sheets of paper, pounds of gold! As for 
invention, knowledge, powers of description, judgment, and 
the various qualities of the mind requisite to the production 
of a successful work, they asserted that no one could know 
what share of them he possessed until he tried. Abel, for 
aught they knew, might prove a second Milton, — Barbara 
might shine forth as an Austin, — and Fanny rival MissEdg- 
worth. It was amusing to remark the silence evident in th$ 
household since this suggestion of Edward Manby; every 
individual that composed it was deep in cogitation; each in 
their turn had “ sunk from thought to thought a vast pro- 
found,” until their heads perfectly seemed to ache with co- 
gitation. 

Several days elapsed, and not a single idea had crossed 
the four collected heads of the family, when Aunt Bab one 
morning came out all radiant with joy from her bed-room 
asserting she had been visited by a liappy inspiration during 
the night, — that by chance she had dreamt of roasted hare, 
and, as she awoke, she asked herself why she should not 
put into verse the whole of Mrs. Rundell’s book upon cooke- 
ry ? She thought that such a work must be a desideratum in 
the world ; for that it stood to reason it would be much 
easier for a cook to carry in mind the precepts which it 
contained in verse, than to retain them in prose. She said 
that she had been so much impelled by this thought that 
she could not refrain that very morning from trying her 
skill, and that she had selected Mrs. Rundell’s recipe for 
making hare-soup (out of compliment to her dream) as her 
first essay. She had, however, found the truth of the saying, 
‘ that dreams were to be interpreted by contraries,’ for that 


184 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


in exerting her wits to the utmost, she could not get beyond 
the first two lines, do all she could. £he had succeeded 
thus far: 


When hares are old, and fit for nothing else, 

Then is your time to make them into soup. 

But where the rhymes for else and soup were to be found 
she for one could not tell, therefore it stood to reason that 
she must try something else. She had been more success- 
ful in her second essay, it was on the subject of beef; the 
rhymes were easy and almost spoke for themselves. She 
thought she had succeeded, and that she might give it as a 
specimen of the whole work. Upon which she produced a 
fragment of paper, from which she read as follows : 

TO STEW A RUMP OF BEEF. 

Wash it well and season it hot, 

Bind it, cram it in a pot ; 

Fry three onions, put them to it, 

Carrots, turnips, cloves and suet ; 

With broth or gravy cover it up, 

Put in your spoon and take a sup. 

Soft and gentle let it simmer, 

Then of port throw in a brimmer. 

With judgment let the ketchup flow, 

Of vinegar a glass bestow. 

Simmer again for half an hour ; 

Serve at six, and then devour. 

Various were the observations made, and all seemed to 
say that it was much better than anything they could have 
expected from the sort of subject, which, to say the least, 
was not very poetic. Aunt Bab, in describing the process 
of composition, asserted that the book and its materials 
would be very much improved by being in verse — “ For,” 
said she, “ in this very receipt, I have increased the excel- 
lence of the dish to be dressed, by adding an ingredient 
which it did not possess before — namely, suet. I wanted 
a rhyme for ‘ to it,’ and up came ‘ suet’ as a matter of 
course ; and therefore it stands to reason that I have added 
to its value.” 

Edward was mightily diverted by this essay, which he 
thought was quite original, and perhaps might hit the public 
taste, which he asserted was ever the first consideration in 
the mind of publishers. The most divine poem, the most 
learned disquisition, the profoundest research, the greatest 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


185 


compass of invention, he said, were looked upon as so much 
refuse by the booksellers if they were not adapted to public 
taste. 

“ What then can be better adapted to the public taste,” 
said Aunt Bab, not giving those words the intellectual 
meaning which Edward had intended to convey, “ than a 
book of cookery ? It stands to reason that, with so many 
dishes described before him, everybody will find one at least 
to his taste.” She then announced her intention of going 
on with her work, and Edward promised that he would sub- 
mit her labours to his friend the publisher as soon as she 
should have collected a few more specimens. 

Not long after Barbara’s exposure of her plan, Uncle 
Afcfel was observed to be more than usually oppressed with 
thought ; and it was remarked that he occasionally had re- 
course to scraps of paper upon which he wrote by snatches, 
and seemed to be intensely interested during that opera- 
tion, — in fact, he exhibited every symptom of composing a 
poem? When he was spoken to, he did not answer ; he be- 
came absent in mind, and, little heeding the gross and dis- 
mal objects by which he was surrounded in the dark atmo- 
sphere of Golden-square, he appeared to breathe in an ideal 
world of his own creation. At length, one morning after 
breakfast, he announced that he had done his utmost to put 
together some lines which he conceived, with their appro- 
bation, he might submit to the publisher; and^although he 
was quite diffident about their success, yet, having been 
impelled by what Edward Manby had said, and by the 
sense of their necessities, he had laboured hard to make 
himself a poet. “Read! read!” was exclaimed by all 
present. 

“ I wonder what he can have found to write about in this 
dull hole!” said Fanny. 

“ I wish I could write something too!” said Mary de- 
spondingly. 

“ Read!” said Bab, putting on a most critical look. 

Abel drew forth a paper, and read as follows: 

ON INNOCENT PLEASURES. 

Away for e’er ye vain and vicious joys! 

Ye haunts of vapid mirth and idle noise! 

For me no more your revelry shall please, 

Your banquets sicken, or your coxcombs tease. 

“ I see,” said Bab, with a sigh, “ you have been thinking 
of our doings at Ivycote!” 

Vol. I. — 16 


186 


ABEL ALLNUTT, 


But come, thou sober harmony of soul,— 

The passions’ bridle, and the heart’s control,' 

Come calm delights, pure as the heavenly ray, 

Cheerful though serious, temperate though gay. 

Oh! how I love each simple scene to trace, 

And from rude Nature snatch each artless grace; 

’Midst fields, and woods, and steepest wilds to rove. 

Pause on each bank, and muse in every grove! 

To watch the glimmerings of th’ approaching day. 

The solemn shades of dawn, the shooting ray, — 

Nature all sparkling from the midnight rain, — 

The long bright gleams that flash across the plain. 

To meet the. flocks freed from th’ impatient pen. 

In fleecy train winding across the glen, 

Whilst lowing herds, slow moving from the shed. 

Break the still air, and o’er the pastures spread. 

Or, at the evening’s close, from some tall brow. 

To mark the sun’s retreat from all below, 

The thin blue vapour’s harmonising dye, 

Blending the distant landscape with the sky — 

To hear the pipe enlivening the vale. 

And peals of laughter swelling on the gale, 

For new delights each rural sound provokes — 

The ploughman chiding loud his sturdy yokes-^- 
The busy mill and streams that dash along — 

The shepherd’s shout, the milkmaid’s artless song — 

The cock’s response — the caw — the chattering jay — 

The honest bark, and e’en the distant bray — 

“ Stop!” said Bab; that won’t do Abel!” 

These are thy joys, sweet Innocence; and these, 

Where virtue fills the heart, — 

“ Stop!” again exclaimed Bab; “ the bray will never do 
— how can you say that you have received pleasure from 
the bray of an ass? That alone will make the publisher 
reject your work.” 

“ I think that any sound, be it what it may,” said Abel, 
“ which brings rural images before the mind, is pleasing; 
and therefore it appeared to me that I might class the bray 
with the other sounds which I have mentioned.” 

“ Nothing can reconcile me to a donkey’s bray,” said 
Fanny. 

“ It was only this very morning,” said Mary, with great 
deference of manner, “ that I heard an ass braying in the 
square; and I could almost have cried, it put me so much 
in mind of Mrs. Humphrey’s donkey at dear Ivycote, with 
which we were all so well acquainted. 

“ 'There!” said Abel; “ Mary has explained my meaning 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


187 


at once. It is not that the braying itself is an agreeable noise 
but it is the association of ideas thus produced, which is 
the cause of the pleasurable- feeling, and indeed one may 
say of all poetic feeling.” 

“ Well, said Barbara, “you’ll see I’m right,, for it stands 
to reason that 1 am. We will refer to Edward Manby 
when he comes, and you’ll see that he will say I’m right. 
How any poetry can be extracted from the bray of an ass, 
is to me incomprehensible!” 

They argued for some time on this subject until they 
had thrown themselves into a sufficient degree of party 
heat; and when Edward Manby appeared, one and all they 
rushed towards him each with a question on their tongue, 
of which the words “ass” and “braying” were heard 
distinctly above the rest. When he could sufficiently abate 
the violence of their zeal, and ascertain the object of dispute, 
like all moderators, he took the middle line, and said, “ that 
for his part he must avow, that the braying of an ass in 
Golden-square appeared to him as much out of character as 
might be the singing of Braham (let us say) in a field, or a 
farm-yard; but that the one no more precluded the sweet 
recollections of rural life and scenery, than did the other 
the calling up the whole fascination of an opera-house. 

With this all parties were satisfied, and harmony was 
restored, though not before Aunt Bab had insisted upon re- 
ceiving Edward’s opinion whether her own particular ob- 
servations upon Abel’s poem were well or ill founded. Ed- 
ward read it over with much attention, and expressed himself 
quite satisfied with the propriety of the image which Abel 
had used, however low it might appear: he observed that 
the word ‘ neigh’ might have been adopted instead of 4 bray,’ 
and would have answered the rhyme just as well; but that 
the image which that word produced was rather of too ele- 
vated a character for the others which preceded it, and would 
have destroyed the humble and homely cast of the picture. 
Barbara gulped down no slight feeling of mortification at 
this decision against her judgment; but she did not allow it 
to disturb her good feeling towards him who pronounced it. 
On the contrary, when he proclaimed himself ready to pro- 
ceed to the publisher in order to propose the two produc- 
tions, hers and Abel’s,- for insertion in one of his next pub- 
lications, she could not sufficiently express her gratitude; for 
if there be one feeling more impelling than another, it is the 
desire which every one has, who has any pretensions to 
write, to see himself in print for the first time. 


188 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Writing for one's bread seldom answers unless one is bred 
to writing . 

Aunt Barbara having given the finish to some pathetic 
lines upon the best mode of scalding a sucking-pig, with a 
spirited address to those who are about to choose fish, pre- 
sented them to Edward as he was about to conduct Abel to 
the publisher’s, saying, “ These specimens must do for the 
present, and will show what my intentions are.” 

Edward and Abel were about leaving the house, when 
Aunt Fanny came rushing after them flourishing a sheet of 
paper in her hand, and saying that she had just finished a 
tale which she hoped might be thought worthy of being 
added to the family productions: she avowed that it was a 
hasty sketch, and hoped it might be classed among the light 
literature of the day. Edward, with the greatest good-nature, 
took it from her, and said that they had better read it before 
they proceeded further, and as it appeared short it would 
not take up much of their time. Without making any for- 
mal sitting, they stood round him whilst he read as follows: 

“THE STORY OF THE SWEET CURRANJEL, 

AN EASTERN PRINCESS. 

In a deep sequestered wood, totally secluded from the 
busy haunts of men, and quite impossible to be pierced by 
the sun’s rays, lived the sweet Curranjel, in a most beauti- 
ful cottage entirely covered over with ivy entwined with 
honeysuckles, and darkened into the coolest freshness by 
the number of odoriferous plants which grew quite over her 
windows. She passed her whole existence in sitting on 'a 
mossy bank, tending a lovely little lamb, white as the dri- 
ven snow, which she always kept beautifully washed with 
the best brown Windsor soap, and tied with a pink riband 
to her waist; whilst she held a crook in her hand and read 
a book with the other. She was always dressed in the 
cleanest white muslin pelisse imaginable, with pink ribands 
and bows in her sleeves and round her waist, and with a 
lovely Leghorn hat on her head, and white kid gloves. She 
was so extremely beautiful, that every-body who saw her, 
as they passed by, would turn round and stare at her, and 


ABEL ALLNTJTT. 


189 


say to themselves, ‘ La! I wonder who is that?’ Although 
she never stirred from the repose of her luxurious residence, 
yet she was the talk and admiration of all the neighbour- 
hood; and people would come from a great distance just to 
steal a peep at her from behind the trees, and dodge round 
and round just to get one single glimpse of her astonishingly 
powerful coal-black eyes. One day, as the sweet Curran- 
jel was partaking of a cold collation by the side of a mur- 
muring stream, composed of some nice clouted cream, with 
some raspberry jam in it, and some very nice macaroon bis- 
cuits, to her great surprise all of a sudden her dear innocent 
little lamb made a jump, and breaking its pink riband from 
her waist, ran away. She was puzzled at first what to do 
with her clouted cream and macaroons; but at length, with 
great presence of mind, she laid them down upon the bank, 
and like a young mountain goat, fleeter than the winds, she 
took to her legs and ran after her innocent little lamb. She 
had not run many steps, when, just' as she turned round a 
corner, she perceived straight before her a most accom- 
plished young Eastern prince, extremely handsome, with 
auburn hair curling all over his head; teeth of astonishing 
whiteness, and with piercing eyes darting from behind an 
aquiline nose, and very red downy cheeks. He was dressed 
in the most beautiful manner in a Polish dress, with tassels 
hanging from his curiously embroidered cap, and held a 
flageolet in his hands, upon which he could play divinely. 
She stopped in the greatest confusion — he stopped in utter 
dismay. She looked away and down on the ground at the 
same time — he stole side-glances at her, but dared not speak. 
They would have remained so for a long time, perhaps to 
this very hour, had not the little innocent lamb come bleat- 
ing and hopping by; when the sweet Curranjel, forgetting 
her awkward situation, made a dart forward to seize the 
pink riband — the youth also made a dart forward to seize 
the lamb — and these two darts having brought them close 
together, they stood close to each as if they had been fixed 
by one dart: — there they stood, the innocent lamb between 
them, the picture of virtuous love and Arcadian simplicity. 
Their respective breasts heaved — their respective tongues 
faltered — the lamb bleated, until overcome by the intensity 
of his feelings, the young stranger at length exclaimed with 
the most impassioned accents, ‘I love thee!’ which struck 
with such deep vibrations in the inmost heart of the sweet 
Curranjel, that she, no longer able to contain her emotions, 
answered in these simple but expressive words: ‘ Do you?’ 

16 * 


190 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


and the lamb being an emblem of the purity of their affec- 
tions, they were immediately married by a Roman Catholic 
priest who lived in an adjoining cell, and were very happy 
ever after.” 

Edward scarcely knew which way to look after reading 
this specimen of Fanny’s idea of an Eastern tale. Fearful 
of hurting her feelings, he composed his features as well as 
he could into proper gravity, and assured her that he would 
offer it to the notice of the publisher, and without more ce- 
remony, accompanied by Abel he led the way to his ha- 
bitation. In his recollection it had been a mean-looking 
shop; but when he approached the spot, to his surprise he 
found a front so ornamented, glazed, and painted — so re- 
splendent from without with the promise of every literary 
luxury within, that he scarcely ventured to enter. When he 
did so, instead of those overlaid counters and dusty shelves 
which he well recollected, he found a handsome apartment, 
carpeted, decked with mahogany counters, glittering with 
books in brilliant bindings, and exhibiting a magnificence 
which bespoke what in fact was very nearly the truth, that 
all the genius of the times was rather expended upon tire 
surface of things than upon their intrinsic merits. 

Edward, followed by Abel, was introduced into a small 
sanctum; still more beautifully fitted up than the main shop, 
where, seated at a handsome table covered with papers, 
books, and manuscripts, sat in great state, and in a hand- 
some easy chair, the owner and director of the establish- 
ment. 

When Edward first knew him, he was all smiles and wel- 
come; his appearance at that time was without pretensions, 
and there was a musty complexion on whatever surrounded 
him, very different from his looks at the present moment; 
for now everything wore the appearance of gentility — he 
was dressed with the most scrupulous precision, and might 
have vied in appearance with the great of the land. Instead 
of wearing a soft and supplicating look, he now appeared to 
be on the defensive — he was buttoned up and mysterious — 
he had adopted the manners of one given to protection. 
When Edward was introduced, he scarcely rose from his 
seat, and then formally offered him and Abel chairs. Scarce- 
ly acknowledging that he had known Edward before, when 
the business of the visit was explained, he immediately put 
on a doubting face, and after considerable hesitation, turning 
over the papers which had been put into his hand, said 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


191 


“ These sort of things did very well some time ago; but we 
do nothing now but what is high — quite tip-top.” 

“Ah! I suppose that the world has been so accustomed 
to read the beauties of Byron,” said Edward, “ that it can 
bear nothing else. I am afraid, if that be the case, our pro- 
ductions can have but little chance.” 

“ It is not that I mean,” said the publisher: “ pray, may 
I ask who is the author of these things?” 

“ This gentleman, Mr. Abel Allnutt, is one,” said Ed- 
ward, pointing to his companion, “ and his sisters, the Miss 
Allnutts, are the others.” 

“ They will not do,” said the publisher; “ we deal entire- 
ly now with the nobility and with persons whose names are 
known in the world. I never heard of Allnutt before — it has 
never been before the public in any shape.” 

“ But why should not these productions stand upon their 
merit alone, and not upon the name of the author?” said Ed- 
ward. 

“ Merit is all very well in its way,” said the publisher; 
“ but who waits now-a-days to find it out? The publica- 
tions in which these sort of things appear, require no merit 
but that of names; and when my Lord This, or the Duch- 
ess That, condescends to write, it is taken for granted that 
there is merit. Why, sir, I make ho doubt that if the chan- 
cellor of the exchequer would appear as the editor of a new 
edition of Cocker’s Arithmetic, or if I could induce the lord 
chancellor to write a history of the great seal which is now 
exhibiting at Piddock’s, and put his name to it — I am con- 
fident that I could make a great deal of money by such a 
speculation.” 

“ Then, sir, am I to understand,” said Edward, “ that 
you publish nothing which has not got a great name at- 
tached to it?” 

“ We give money for nothing else,” said the publisher: 
“ we pay in proportion to the position of the author, and I 
fear that we can afford nothing in the present instance.” 

Upon which, regaining possession of their proffered pro- 
ductions, they took their leave, Abel from the beginning of 
the conference having given up all hope of obtaining success 
in the literary line, and determined to turn his thoughts to 
to other things. 

Upon reaching home he found a letter from Cruikshank, 
which he and his sisters had been expecting with great anx- 
iety, for its contents were likely to be of considerable con- 
sequence, inasmuch as it would inform them of the result 


192 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


of the sale at Ivycote. The sum which thereby they were 
to realise would form their only visible means of subsistence 
for the present, and therefore the amount of it became a mat- 
ter of intense interest. They conceived ttfeir calculation to 
be much within the mark when they fixed a moderate sum 
as the amount of their expectations; but what was their mor- 
tification, and we may add, their consternation, when they 
found that the money which Cruikshank had to remit to 
their bankers but very little exceeded half that sum! 

Exaggerated expectations are always sure to produce ex- 
aggerated disappointments. Because the cow and the pigs 
had been sold to Mr. Woodby at half the price which Aunt 
Bab had expected, she immediately exclaimed that there 
must have been some foul play in favour of the rich man; 
and when they discovered by Cruikshank’s accounts that 
the wash-tubs and laundry gear had been knocked down to 
the Silvertops literally for nothing, they were sure that the 
auctioneer must have played some trick, because they well 
recollected that the Thickentales always said how much they 
longed to have them. There was no end to the discussions, 
the endless remarks, and the gossip produced in Golden- 
square by the sale which had taken place at Ivycote. Old 
Betty raised lamentations that were heard all over the house, 
because the new coal-skuttle which she had bought only a 
month before they came away for twelve shillings, had been 
sold for three and sixpence; and Aunt Fanny would not al- 
low herself to be consoled, because Mrs. Humphries, the 
school-mistress, had got the parlour looking-glass; for she 
said, “ what business could she have with a looking-glass? 
and was it not setting a bad example to the girls, if they ever 
saw her inspecting her ugly face in it?” 

Were not the subject too important to the well-being of 
our simple fiiends to be turned into a joke, we would will- 
ingly continue to amuse our readers with all the circum- 
stances resulting from this event. Abel’s courage almost fell 
to despondency when he looked into the state of their af- 
fairs and the difficulties of their situation. The rent alone 
of their lodging would swallow up a great portion of their 
means: although they lived as sparingly as possible, allow- 
ing themselves nothing but the merest necessaries r still those 
inexorable things called weekly bills came round with de- 
spotic exactitude, and lessened their store in spite of the 
most rigid economy. Abel always endeavoured to bring 
back his mind to that steady repose in the ways of Provi- 
dence which he had ever cherished, whenever he found it 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


193 


deviating into anxious apprehensions for the future; but with 
all his philosophy he could not help feeling downcast and 
oppressed. He did his utmost to appear cheerful before his 
sisters and niece, and talked with confidence of what might 
be done in a city so full' of resources as London, but when 
left to himself, his true feelings would break out, and the 
only mode of relief he could devise was to walk about the 
streets, and so endeavour to dissipate his mind from the dis- 
tracting contemplation of his necessities. 

The defeat of their literary scheme had not made the deep 
impression which perhaps it otherwise would, owing to the 
matter of major importance contained in Cruikshank’s letter; 
but that subject having been discussed with Edward Manby 
at the same time as the other, he thus, indeed, became a 
party concerned in this and in everything which related to 
the family. He entered heart and soul in the discussion of 
every question as if he were a member of it, and thus day 
after day, and almost hour after hour, he passed his time in 
company with the object of his affections, until his whole 
being was so identified with her image that he could 
scarcely live out of her presence. 

In misfortune, springs of action are touched which in the 
flush of prosperity are not heeded. Sympathies are then 
created ; whereas, in the sunshine of happiness, the heart is 
too apt to conclude that no distress can exist. Mary’s feel- 
ings melted into gratitude towards Edward when she reflect- 
ed how great and visible was the support which he afforded 
her uncle and aunts in these their days of misfortune ; — his 
frank and smiling face came amongst them like a warm 
gleam acting upon a cheerless gloom : difficulties which ap- 
peared insurmountable, when they came to* be talked over 
with him were deprived of half their perplexity ; he always 
looked upon the brightest Side of things — a quality of the 
mind which, in truth, can be outbalanced by no power of 
wealth. 

It was imposible for two such beings to meet so constant- 
ly, and under the peculiar circumstances which drew them 
together, without mutually feeling those sentiments which, 
in the hearts of the virtuous and the high-principled, tend 
to develope the noblest qualities of the heart. Mary would 
frequently confide to Edward her desire to make herself use- 
ful to her family by hiring herself out as a governess, and 
she modestly hinted that what she wanted in abilities, she 
might make up in assiduity and attention to her duties. 

“ She was ready,” she said, “ to go for the smallest sti- 


194 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


pend, provided that stipend went to her relations ; and by 
this means waiting for some favourable turn in their affairs, 
she hoped to ward off’that desperate want which might as- 
sail them if something were not done.” Edward opposed 
this with all his might. As soon as he could be of use, he 
insisted that his services might be made available. He did 
not depend, it is true, upon himself; but still his uncle at 
Liverpool, to whom he looked up from every feeling of af- 
fection and duty, was generous and ever ready to listen to 
any reasonable scheme that he might propose, and he trust- 
ed that through his means something would be struck out 
which might at least relieve them from the more immediate 
horrors of poverty. 

These struggles of generosity did not fail to feed the 
flame of that pure love which was burning within their 
breasts ; and although neither dared to own its existence, 
still it now formed as much a part of their being as the 
breath which came from their nostrils, or as the blood which 
circulated in their veins. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

One of the distresses incidental to human life are poor 
cousins. Happy they who go through the world so 
unafflicted! 

The Allnutfs in Golden-sqare lived totally ignorant of 
what was going on in the world, and even more so than in 
their seclusion at Ivycote. They knew no one — they never 
read a newspaper, and they were too much absorbed in 
brooding over their own calamities to care about politics, 
or to heed the hard race that was running between the two 
parties which then divided the country. Mark Woodcock 
was the only man who occasionally paid them a vist. Like 
every one who had ever seen Mary, he too had been cap- 
tivated by her beauty; and whenever he could steal from his 
desk at Lincoln’s Inn, he would always contrive some good 
pretext for visiting Golden-square. One morning he came 
earlier than usual, and as he entered the room where the 
family wese assembled, he exclaimed in a tone of exulta- 
tion, “ Well, have you heard the news?” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


195 


41 What news?” said Aunt Bab. 

“ Why, the change of ministry, to be sure,” said Mark: 
“ the Tories have served it out properly, and the W T higs 
are floored.” Upon which he explained himself in as in- 
telligible a jargon as he could command, and exhibited a 
list of the new ministers as it stood proclaimed in a morning 
paper. 

Little did either Barbara, Fanny, or Abel, and Mary still 
less, heed what he was propounding, or give ear to the 
names of the persons appointed to fill the different offices 
of the state, which he read seriatim with great emphasis. 
Their attention, however, was arrested when they heard 
him say, “ Minister for foreign affairs, Earl of Knutsford.” 

“ Abel! did you hear that?” exclaimed Barbara. 

“ I did indeed,” said Abel; “ but what then?” 

“ What then?” cried Bab; “ a great deal, to be sure! 
Why you are an Allnutt as well as he — and why should 
he not help us?” 

“ / see no good reason why, I am sure,” said Abel, smil- 
ing, “ if he does not.” 

“ It he does not!” said Barbara;— “ and wherefore should 
he? If he does not know how near we are related, he must 
be informed of it; and then I am sure, if he possesses one 
ounce of the blood of an Allnutt within his veins, he will be 
too happy to help us.” 

“ I for one,” said Abel, “ am ignorant how nearly we are 
related. I have always heard that we were of the same fami- 
ly as Lord Knutsford; but of the particulars of the relation- 
ship I know nothing.” 

“ Then I’ll tell you how it is,” said Bab, “ for I have 
often heard our dear father speak upon that subject. The 
present Lord Knutsford’s father and our father had each of 
them three great-grandmothers. — No, that is not it — that is, 
that the first Lord Knutsford had three wives, and they each 
had children; therefore there were established three great- 
grandfathers — no, I mean three great-grandmothers. Well, 
each of these great-grandmothers had grandchildren ” 

“ They had children too, 1 am sure of that,” said Fanny. 

“ I am not quite certain of that,” said Bab: “ however, 
that has nothing to do with the matter, because it stands to 
reason that if they had grandchildren, those children must 
have had fathers, anyhow. Therefore, as the present Lord 
Knutsford’s father and our father had each of them the same 
great-grandfather, although a different great-grandmother, 
they came from the same stock, and as we are children of 


196 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


our father, we come from the same stock too, and we be- 
come cousins, but of what numerical affinity, as our dear 
father would say, (and so would John too,) I really do not 
know.” 

“ But still,” said Fanny, after a moment of deep thought, 
“ if the great-grandmothers were different, the great-grand- 
children must be different too, and they can only be great- 
grandcousins on the father’s side;, and that’s what Lord 
Knutsford is to us.” 

“ There’s no father’s side or mother’s side in cousins — 
they are all of one side,” said Bab with great quickness in 
her accent. 

“ Well, then I am sure,” said Fanny, “if we are all 
on the same side, the present Lord Knutsford ought to do 
something for us, and Abel ought to apply to him imme- 
diately.” 

“ Yes, he ought,” said Bab, “ and will too. Let us see — 
Minister for foreign affairs — that is to say, that he can do 
all he likes about foreigners, Frenchmen, Turks, Spaniards, 
and East Indians — ay, and with Mexicans too. He may 
appoint John to direct the mines: and he could make Abel, 
I dare say, a Roman consul if he chose it.” 

“ Not a consul,” said Fanny; “for the ancient Greeks 
only did that; but I dare say he might make him an am- 
bassador anyhow. 

“ I fear, my dear,” said Abel, “ that your are too san- 
guine in your hopes; but this I do think, that through his 
influence he may persuade the Mexican republic either to 
pay us back the capital which we have put into their funds, 
or at least continue to pay us the interest for it. This 
would not be much to ask from a distant cousin.” 

“That of course,” exclaimed Bab, “is the least he can 
do for us: but he must do a great deal more, that’s what he 
must. Let us ask Edward Manby what he can do; — I dare 
say he will know, as he does most things.” 

Mark Woodcock, after having created the sensation we 
have just described, took his leave, or, as he would say, “ cut 
his stick;” and not long after appeared Edward, who was 
soon informed of the prospects which had all at once dawn- 
ed upon the family. Having been asked in every sort of 
tone of inquiry what were the powers of a minister for fo- 
reign affairs, he professed general ignorance upon the sub- 
ject; but he ventured to say what he thought he could not 
do. 

When Barbara asserted that he ought to appoint John to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


197 


be the director of all the Mexican mines, he answered that 
as mining speculations were private or joint-stock specula- 
tions, they oi course appointed their own officers, and that 
the king’s minister could have no voice on the subject ex 
officio. Then, as to making the republic refund, he was 
obliged to destroy the castle which Abel had built, inasmuch 
as the government professed to take no part in foreign loans. 
But he thought that Fanny’s scheme of making Abel a 
consul was more in his power than either of the two others, 
and therefore expressed it as his opinion that Abel might 
boldly venture to apply to him for some appointment of that 
sort, or for something at home. 

This dictum of Edward’s immediately became the sub- 
ject of all their thoughts and the theme of all their talk. 
Barbara, little understanding the gradations of diplomatic 
rank and service, insisted upon it that they ought not to de- 
mand the consulship at first, as that might be too much — 
but that perhaps they might begin by making Abel a simple 
ambassador. 

Fanny was soon in the clouds, and had already settled in 
her mind the foreign princes and counts who would be 
quarrelling among themselves to make an offer of their 
hand; whilst Mary sighed at the possibility of being sepa- 
rated from Edward. Abel, however, still steadily kept his 
eye upon their money in the Mexican funds, hoping that, 
being restored to it, he might again return to his beloved 
country retirement. But the result of their conference was 
that Abel should present himself to Lord Knutsford, and 
making known his relationship, state the situation of his 
family and ask for some sort of employment. 

In order to put this scheme into execution, it was neces- 
sary to make Abel a little more presentable in his appear- 
ance than he usually was; for, with the view of economis- 
ing to the utmost farthing, he did not allow himself the 
smallest luxury in dress. His sisters obliged him t© have 
his hair cut, a new cravat was provided for the occasion, 
he exhibited a larger expanse of white linen than usual, and 
his coat was inspected, mended, newly buttoned and brush- 
ed. The day having been fixed for putting his scheme into 
execution, the whole family were busied in preparing him 
at least to look well. His boots were well polished, and 
with Aunt Bab’s chain round his person, and with Fanny’s 
best pocket-handkerchief in his pocket, he at length sallied 
forth, accompanied by Edward, to seek the regions of 
Vol. I.--17 


198 


ABEL ALLNTJTT. 


D owning-street, where the new minister was known to 
transact the business of his office. 

When they came in sight of the sentry stationed at the 
door, Edward left Abel, who, as soon as he found himself 
alone, felt possessed of new energies. He passed the sen- 
try, and, with his heart in a flutter, opened the door, walked 
in, and being confronted with the porter, boldly inquired 
whether he could see Lord Knutsford. The porter, to his 
surprise, received him with becoming civility, and intro- 
ducing him into the waiting-room, asked him for his card — 
an article which owing to Edward’s foresight he was ena- 
bled to give. “ Mr. Abel Allnutt, Golden-square,” was in- 
scribed thereupon in all proper form; and when the porter 
looked at it, Abel thought that his face betrayed approba- 
tion. 

Having taken possession of an arm-chair, he sat for some 
time well satisfied to have an opportunity to collect his 
thoughts. He settled in his mind everything that he would 
say to his cousin; — first the passing hint of their relation- 
ship, and the short history of his branch of the family, then 
his brother John’s schemes, and particularly the one which 
at his instigation they had adopted, of transferring their for- 
tune from the English to the Mexican funds; then the ruin 
that ensued thereupon — the sale of their house at Ivycote — 
their migration to Golden-square — their present difficulties, 
and consequently their recurrence to his assistance. He was 
disturbed in his cogitations every now and then by some 
one putting his head within the door and drawing it out 
again; but otherwise he was left entirely to himself, and for 
so long a time, that he began to feel uneasy lest all was not 
as it should be. However, after he had sat two hours and 
a half, suddenly a well-dressed man entered, and calling him 
by name, invited Abel to follow him. Instantly all his°cool- 
ness and self-possession forsook him — his heart beat strong 
and he followed his conductor in a great state of perturba- 
tion, so entirely new was he to such scenes. He was con- 
ducted across halls, through passages, up and down stair- 
cases, into rooms, and at length came to a door which was 
opened with a certain degree of deference by his conductor, 
and soon he found himself in the presence of one whom he 
took for Lord Knutsford. 

The person before whom he stood was one calculated to 
produce awe in the breast of a mere man of the fields more 
by the manner in which he was surrounded than by his own 
personal appearance. He was seated before a large and 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


199 


massive writing-table, heaped over with every implement 
of writing that the imagination can conceive: papers of every 
description lay about in heaps, some carefully tied up with 
red tape, and others open as if under inspection. Every 
contrivance for the assortment and classification of letters 
and documents was here seen; whilst innumerable leather- 
covered boxes of every size, colour, and denomination were 
strewed about in heaps ready for use. In distant corners 
of the room sat two other persons apparently absorbed in 
the papers before them; whilst the chief was at his post 
ready to superintend the work that was going forward. He 
was a man of pleasant aspect and agreeable manners, and 
when Abel approached, received him with as much polite- 
ness and urbanity as if he were honoured by his visit. 

There was an appearance of mystery and secrecy in this 
apartment so pregnant with business, so fitted up with every- 
thing relating to matters of serious import, that Abel’s heart 
quite sank within him when he recollected the insignifi- 
cance of his own poor affairs. All his preconcerted speech 
fled from his memory; he made an awkward bow, and me- 
chanically seated himself on the chair which was presented 
to him. He was, however, so much relieved by the ease 
and charm of manner in the person who received him, that 
he began after a short pause to find himself restored to his 
self-possession. Still taking the individual before him for 
Lord Knutsford, and thinking that in him he saw a relation, 
he very soon entered upon the history of his family, and 
went into a series of intricate details relating to the different 
individuals composing it, which he thought might be inter- 
esting matter of information. He was beginning to touch 
upon the histories of his brother and sisters, when his audi- 
tor gradualiy led him off the subject to inquire what might 
be the real object of his visit. 

Abel, having acquired confidence, was not disconcerted, 
and giving a simple statement of his personal difficulties, he 
asked for employment — in short, for a situation under go- 
vernment. The gentleman having heard him out with 
exemplary patience, considering that he was not Lord 
Knutsford, and therefore little interested in the Allnutt gene- 
alogy, then addressed him in a few words, — told him of the 
immense number of applications with which the govern- 
ment was beset for places, descanted upon the pain ol public 
functionaries in being constantly obliged to refuse the claims 
of merit, avowed how happy he would be to serve him 
were it in his power, said something about private family 


200 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


claims — “a subject,” he said, “upon which he was not 
competent to judge,” — and with a variety of agreeable- 
sounding words, accompanied by smiles and a slight though 
gradual pressure towards the door, he succeeded in guiding 
Abel to that orifice; into which having once successfully se- 
cured him, he made him a bow, and the door shutting Abel 
on the out side and himself within, the conference thus came 
to an end. 

Having once more reached the street, Abel walked down 
it with a slow and thoughtful step. He had gained nothing 
by his visit excepting the certainty of the loss of his former 
hopes ; nor was he quite certain whether or not he had seen 
Lord Knutsford. During the visit, he considered himself 
as being in his presence ; but when it was over, he re- 
collected certain occurrences which made him doubt whether 
it might not have been somebody else. In this state of per- 
plexity he returned home but little pleased with the result 
of h;s morning’s work, and almost afraid to meet Barbara 
and the inquiries which she would not fail to make. But 
there was one thing which he was not afraid to encounter — 
and that was the scrutiny of his own breast. There, amid 
$11 the cares, the disappointments, and the vexations which 
surrounded him, he was sure to find a still, small voice, 
which, -as it were, from the inmost recesses of his soul 
would speak the language of comfort and encouragement, 
and tell him to persevere to the last. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mel Mlnutt offers himself for a tutor , and proves the 
disadvantage of homely looks. 

As soon as Abel rapped at the door, Mary, who had 
learned to recognise his mode of announcing himself, cried 
out, “Oh, here is Uncle Abel!” and he very soon after ap- 
peared. 

“ Well, Abel, what has happened?” cried Barbara. 

“ What sort of a looking man is he?” said Fanny. 

“ My dear uncle,” said Mary, « I am afraid you want 
something to eat — you look sadly tired !” 

Abel was inclined to say but little ; Bab, however, soon 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


201 


let him know that he had much to undergo. “ Have you 
seen Lord Knutsford ?” she said. 

“ I believe I have,” said Abel: “ but really I cannot say 
for certain whether I have or not.” 

“You believe you have!” exclaimed Barbara. “ How! 
do you only believe? — arn’t you certain that you have seen 
him?” 

“ I was introduced to a most agreeable man whom I took 
for him. I told him the whole of our story — I talked to him 
of our family, and initiated him into all our family matters: 
he heard me patiently. 1 conceived all the while that I was 
talking to Lord Knutsford; but when he remarked, ‘ that as 
for family claims, he was not competent to judge of them,’ 
and informed me that owing to the great number of prior ap- 
plicants I had no chance of employment, I began to suspect 
that he was not our cousin; and somehow or other, agreea- 
ble and pleasant though he was, in some unaccountable 
manner I suddenly found myself without the door. That is 
all that I can say for myself.” 

“ Welff I never heard the like of this!” exclaimed Bar- 
bara. “ You spoke to a man for half an honr, and you say 
you do not know who he was! How did he look? It stands 
to reason that an earl and a minister must be different in 
appearance to other men. Did he not wear robes and gar- 
ters, as we hear they all do?”. 

“ He looked exactly like any other man,” said Abel, 
“ only a great deal more polite. I felt somehow entirely 
at my ease before him, and could not help being pleased 
with him, although he told me that he could do nothing 
for us.” 

. “ Then certainly he was not our cousin the earl,” said 
Bab. “ You must have been taken in by some swindler — 
some one must have practised a hoax upon you — that is 
quite clear: an earl has always a silver star on his breast and 
a large riband over his shoulder — his hair is always well- 
powdered — he always wears silk-stockings, and a sword by 
his side. Now, if you did not see such a man, it stands to 
reason that you have been hoaxed.” 

“ All I can say is this,” said Abel, — “ that when I walked 
in, I asked the servant for Lord Knutsford: lie seemed very 
well to know who he was. Then I waited two hours aiid 
a half in a room by myself; and afterwards, I was taken into 
another room, where I saw a courteous gentleman, and him 
I took to be our cousin.” % 

17 * 


202 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ You may be certain that during those two hours and a 
half,” said Bab, “ the hoax Was got up against you: I wish 
Edward Manby were here — he’d tell you the same thing. 
Nothing can be so wicked as these Londoners — you know 
that Mark Woodcock has warned us against them; and not- 
withstanding the lesson you got from that odious woman of 
the Fleece and her Punch, here you are the first to fall a 
prey to their tricks.” 

“I doubt very much,” said Abel, “ whether the gentle- 
man I saw could act like a swindler if he were to try, he 
was so well bred.” 

“ I recollect very well,” said Bab, “ when I was a little 
girl, going to the family seat and seeing the family pictures; 
and all the Earls of Knutsford were dressed in the manner 
I have described, only some had robes and garters on. It 
is quite plain you did not see the present lord. — But here 
comes Edward, and he will enlighten us.” 

Edward arrived in anxious expectation to hear the result 
of Abel’s visit; and when the progress of it was related to 
him, he said at once that he could not have seen Lord 
Knutsford, but evidently had been taken to the under secre- 
retary of state, for he recollected that a friend of his had told 
him that he had been treated in the selfsame manner at the 
Foreign Office. 

Barbara would not be satisfied with this explanation, but 
insisted upon her view of the hoax being the right one; 
whilst Aunt Fanny immediately instituted a general inquiry 
upon under secretaries of state, and endeavoured to ascer- 
tain whether they were all as agreeable as the one Abel had 
described, and where they could be seen. 

A strong principle of action founded upon a right basis is 
like the beacon to which the mariner returns when he is 
out of his reckoning, in order to take a fresh departure. 
Abel cherished that species of hope within his breast which 
was not to be extinguished by disappointment: he was con- 
fident, although the aspect of his affairs was at present dark 
and threatening, that sooner or later it would brighten up 
and give him happier days. But still he was distressed at 
his total want of success, which he would have borne with 
greater fortitude, had he no other cause of anxiety; but his 
mind was disturbed by apprehension at not hearing from 
John. Since the account of his arrival at Vera Cruz, not a 
line had been reeeived from him: there were no tidings of 
him in the city among the Mining Companies; and al- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


203 


though he was supposed to be on his way back, yet no- 
thing certain concerning his movements had been ascer- 
tained. 

Edward scarcely ever passed a day without making 
inquiries upon that head, so anxious was he to bring conso- 
lation to Mary, who, ever since she had contemplated the 
possibility of soon seeing her father, could scarcely think of 
anything else. In the mean while, the small sum which 
the family had in store for their immediate necessities was 
daily diminishing, and they looked with dread upon the day 
when the rent of their lodging would be due. 

The family frequently discussed their miseries and their 
schemes in the presence of Mark Woodcock, who, being a 
good-hearted, serviceable youth, took great interest in their 
welfare. Some time after the failure we have just described, 
he one morning came in great haste to inform Abel that his 
chief, Mr. Fairfax by name, a solicitor of eminence, had 
been desired by one of his clients, a man of fortune, to seek 
a tutor for his sons, and conceiving that the situation might 
suit him, he had requested Mr. Fairfax’s permission to make 
him an offer. 

The proposal was received with the greatest joy by Aunt 
Bab, who, looking upon Abel as a property of which she 
might dispose without an appeal to his will, would have 
agreed to it upon the spot, had she not been stopped by 
Abel. His conscience always chose to become very tender 
whenever it was required of him to assert his own merits, 
and accordingly on this occasion he avowed that he did not 
feel himself qualified to undertake such an office. 

“ Give me one good reason for your refusal,” said Bar- 
bara, “ and I will urge the matter no more.” 

“I am not sufficietly welledueated myself to be able to 
teach others,” said Abel : “I cannot set up fora tutor when 
I am myself untutored.” 

“ How can you say that !” said Bab. “ Y ou know very 
well that I myself taught you to read and write ; and as for 
your Latin, 1 am sure you know enough of that at any rate 
to puzzle Merriman our schoolmaster; not to mention your 
flute.” 

Mark put an end to this discussion by asserting that the 
gentleman in question was more anxious to secure a trust- 
worthy person who would look after the morals and conduct 
of his pupils, than one who could teach Latin and Greek ; 
and again expressed his own opinion, as well as that of his 
chief, that the place would exactly suit Abel : the salary 


204 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


would be handsome, the labour small, and the youths were 
reputed to be everything that was desirable. 

Under such circumstances, Abel could no longer object to 
the proposal, and he begged to know when and where he 
could present himself. In making this decision, his self- 
devotion may perhaps be appreciated by those who reflect 
what had been the happiness of his former life, and what is 
too frequently the lot of a tutor ; who, often with the feel- 
ings and education of a gentleman, drops, as it were, from 
the clouds into a family circle, and straightway forms a sort 
of connecting link between the master and the domestics — 
belonging to neither class, but partaking of the nature of 
both; — who in the midst of society is generally left in soli- 
tude, whose only associates are his pupils, and who, be- 
sides, is often the victim of caprice and malevolence. To 
meet such a prospect requires great magnanimity, when the 
motives which impel him who accepts of the situation are 
similar to those which actuated Abel. He perhaps did not 
know all he was about to encounter ; but this he foresaw, — 
that he would be separated from those who were dearer to 
him than life — that he would be obliged to acquire new 
habits, and conform himself to the wishes of others, when 
he felt that he would fall very for short of the expectations 
that might be entertained of his abilities. 

However, upon receiving a notification from Mr. Fair- 
fax of the name and address of the person to be visited he 
prepared himself for the ordeal he was likely to undergo 
with all the courage he could muster. Mary almost cried 
when she saw him sally forth in quest of this situation, so 
fearful was she of a separation; and Barbara hoped that the. 
necessity for this step would only be temporary; whilst Fan- 
ny consoled herself with the hope of making new acquain- 
tances. 

Abel reached a large handsome house in Portland-place 
just as the clock struck ten: he had been told to call early, 
and as he always rose himself at seven, he thought that 
hour must be quite proper. He was received by a footman 
and introduced into the dining room without perceiving the 
smallest circumstance of distinction in his mode of recep- 
tion. He was requested to wait until the master should be 
apprised of his arrival: this was but a short interval, for the 
same servant again appeared and desired him to follow. He 
accompanied him up stairs to the drawing-room floor, and 
thence to the bed-rooms; and without further ceremony was 
introduced into a dressing-room, in which were displayed 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


205 


all the apparatus and preliminaries of a toilet. At the far- 
ther end stood a tall man, dressed in a morning gown, who 
apparently had just risen from bed. When he saw Abel, 
he made him no sort of compliment, but kept him for a mo- 
ment in attendance whilst he adjusted part of his dress, and 
then said, “ Well, are you ready?” 

Abel looked astonished; but as humility was his great 
characteristic, he thought that it was the usual fate of tutors 
to be treated with contumely, and answered, “ Yes, sir, I 
am ready — I am at your service.’* 

“ So am I,” said the gentleman: “ I wish that you had 
come at least a week ago.” 

“ I did know of your wishes before yesterday,” said Abel, 
“ or I should have been happy to have waited upon you.” 

“ You are not to blame,” said the other; “but they have 
grown uncommonly this week past, and wanted your assis- 
tance.” 

Abel again was surprised — How was it possible, thought 
he, that his pupils could have grown so much in so short a 
space of time; and why was his assistance so immediately 
necessary! “ Have they?” said Abel. “I hope we shall 
soon make up for lost time!” 

“ I hope you will,” said the gentleman, who all this 
while seemed taken up in the inspection of his feet, which 
were naked and only protected from the ground by a slip- 
per. “ They will require all your skill, I can tell you,” 
said he; “ for they are very difficult to deal with.” 

“I will do my best,” said Abel, beginning to be more 
and more surprised at this sort of preliminary talk, and 
which he expected would lead to some severe examination. 

“You are come prepared I hope?” said the gentleman, 
turning round upon him and looking well at him. 

“ Yes, sir,” said Abel; “I hope that you will approve 
of me.” 

Upon which the other, taking one foot from out of his 
slipper, tossed it into the air, and twirling it about, said to 
the astonished Abel, “ You see, they are good large ones!” 

“ Yes,” said Abel with awkward hesitation — “ Yes, they 
are large;” — but not able in the least to understand what a 
man’s feet could have to do with a tutor’s duty. 

“ Well, sir,” said the gentleman, “ begin.” 

“Begin what?” said Abel, doubting the sanity of the 
individual’s brain, and taking possession of the handle of 
the door, as a precaution. 


206 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ Begin what!” said the other: “ why to cut, to be sure! 
— Come, sir! cut away — cut them off at once!” 

“ Cut away! Cut what?” said Abel; when seeing the 
gentleman flourish the other foot and walk towards him, he 
no longer doubted that he had got into the house of a mad- 
man, and straightway rushing out, shut the door after him, 
ran down stairs with all posible speed without once looking 
behind, and gaining the principal entrance, got into the 
street with the activity of one pursued. Neither looking 
to the right nor left, he only stopped when he reached his 
own door; and then, quite out of breath, finding himself face 
to face with his sisters and niece, to their utter astonish- 
ment, he burst out a-laughing. This, so rare an occurrence, 
produced an uncommon sensation among them, and they 
in their turn thought a temporary derangement must have 
seized him. They gathered round with anxious faces — for 
ill timed merriment seldom produces sympathy — and began 
to inquire the cause of his so speedy return and of his ex- 
traordinary conduct. 

After some little time, having at length collected his 
scattered ideas, he gave a full and complete narration of his 
adventure, the result of which puzzled his hearers as much 
as i-t had done himself. 

“ He was preparing to kick you down stairs?” said Bab. 

“ What could he mean by flourishing about his nasty 
naked feet?” said Fanny. 

“ I am so glad you’re come back to us!” said Mary. 

Had they, however, been acquainted with the real story, 
they too, perhaps, would have been partakers of Abel’s 
merriment, although it would have been at his expense; 
for be it known that the worthy gentleman in Portland, 
place had made an appointment with his corn-cutter at the 
very hour that Abel arrived, and as Abel’s appearance, 
without any great stretch of imagination, might very well 
have made him pass for what our French neighbours have 
dignified by the name of artiste pedecure , it is not extra- 
ordinary that the footman took him for that useful person- 
age, and that his master adopted the mistake. It never 
occurred to them for a moment that Abel was the tutor 
announced by Mr. Fairfax, for he did not look like one; 
and besides, so exalted a person would not have appeared 
so early, and would have been announced more emphati- 
cally. Even when he made his abrupt exit, the mistake 
was not discovered; for the gentleman in question actually 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


207 


remained with one leg in the air with surprise, and con- 
cluded, in his turn, that the corn-cutter had suddenly run 
clean out of his wits — and as he thought that he might be 
running all day, so he took no trouble to run after him. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

The family are both cheered and mortified in their 
misfortunes . Ji lesson on economy. 

The situation of the Allnutts may be compared to that 
of a crew in a ship becalmed under the line, their provi- 
sions running short, with every prospect of starvation be- 
fore their eyes should the calm continue. They felt the 
same sort of despondency, the same apprehensions of being 
reduced to the greatet straits, and the same hope of some 
favourable gale springing up which would drive them out 
of their present embarrassment and take them into more 
favourable latitudes. The merriment which we recorded 
in our last chapter was of short duration: it only served to 
make the despondency which succeeded more deep, and 
they daily more and more began, as it were, to touch 
their future destiny. Spring had now advanced; — the few 
black bushes in the enclosure before them, as if to put 
them in mind that Nature, which they all so ardently adored 
was immutable in her work, -and dispensed her gifts to the 
wretched as well as to the prosperous, began to exhibit a 
new dress; and the vivid green starting out of the smoky 
branches appeared as the work of a miracle, were it not 
that a miracle of every day occurrence is no longer such 
in the eyes of unthinking mortals. 

Mary was standing at the window, sighing over the re- 
collections of Ivycote, admiring the beautiful colour as it 
burst forth almost perceptibly to the sight, and hoping that 
by some kind dispensation of Providence they might be re- 
leased from their present confinement, when all at once a 
flaring, gaudy carriage, well bedaubed with escutcheons and 
bedizend with plated ornaments, drove into the square, and, 
strange to relate, stopped at their door. A stout footman 
staggering under a long cane and matted tags, and with dif- 
ficulty waddling in his stiff plushes, applied his hand to the 


208 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


knocker and inflicted a succession of resounding blows, 
which made the hearts of the inmates jump in their breasts, 
and caused a reverberation throughout the square. 

“ What in the name of goodness is that?” said Bab. 

“ I declare it is a fine carriage!” exclaimed Fanny, tak- 
ing a peep over Mary’s shoulder. “ Here, put away these 
things — quick!” Upon which she rushed about the room, 
thrusting Abel’s stockings, which Mary had been darning, 
under the sofa-cushion; disposing of herown petticoat, which 
she had been piecing, by throwing it into the adjoining 
room; taking the kettle from off the fire, and hiding it behind 
the screen; smoothing down her locks, adjusting her gown, 
taking off her apron, — in short, doing that which is almost 
part of an Englishwoman’s religion — making herself tidy. 

Mary watched the motions of the carriage and the foot- 
man like one on the look-out to espy the approach of some 
great personage. 

“ They are talking to the footman,” she said. “ There 
are ladies in the carriage. I think it is the Goold Woodby 
livery — the servant is now saying something to Betty — Bet- 
ty is making curtsies — they are giving cards.” 

“ Arn’t they coming up?” cried Fanny in astonishment. 

“ No, I think not,” said Mary; — “ yes, they are — no, 
they are not — yes, they are — no — yes: — the servant is just 
going to open the door — no, he has shut it again: — they 
have loft a whole pack of cards — Betty is making more curt- 
sies — the footman is getting up behind; — there they go! — 
they are gone!” The carriage was heard to rumble away, 
and Fanny was left all bewildered with agitation; Aunt Bab 
became thoughtful, and Mary was both amused and aston- 
ished. Abel came in soon after' followed by old Betty, who 
made a display of the cards she had received, on which 
were inscribed the names of Mrs. Goold Woodby, attended 
by a whole catalogue of daughters, and the place of abode, 
Baker-street. 

“ Did they know that we wefe at home?” said Aunt Bab 
to Betty. 

“ Yes, sure,” said the old servant. “ I told them that 
you were all here, and that you were purely, saving Miss 
Fanny, who had been rather queer of late.” 

“ And did not they ask to come up?” 

“ Why, they all talked together; some wanted to come, 
others did not,” said Betty: “ until I heard the old lady say, 

‘ Cards will do,’ and they drove off again.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


209 


u Well, I do declare!” exclaimed Fanny, “there never 
'Was anything so unkind.” 

Bab held her tongue, for she would not venture to trust 
herself with an expression of her feeling*, but Abel, thinking 
this a proper moment to make a solemn impression upon his 
sisters, and to attack that pride of heart which every day 
told him still hung about them, said, “ This is only the first 
specimen which we have had of the way of the world. We 
have read of it, and it has passed into a proverb — but this 
is it, now we see it. The prosperous shun those who are 
in adversity — this is as it should be; for the one assimilates 
as little with the other as a lighted taper with the close air 
of a cavern: it is only those privileged by the possession of 
superior minds and of hearts exalted by benignity, to seek the 
abodes of the poor and the rejected, and make their misery 
their own. My dear sisters, let us learn by the instance we 
have had this morning how hollow are those sort of intima- 
cies which go by the name of friendship. The Goold 
Woodbys have made us a parading visit; and I should be 
inclined to feel the comparisons to which such a parade na- 
turally lead as strongly as I see you do, had I not already 
taught myself to expect neglect not only from them, but 
from all those who were our associates in our better days.” 

“ Considering that they are the cause of our present mis- 
fortune,” said Bab with suppressed anger, “1 think they 
might have asked to see us.” 

“I should like to know,” said Fanny, “how they ven- 
ture to give themselves such airs ! — odious, purse-proud 
shopkeepers ! thinking they are doing us an honour by 
sending us these bits of pasteboard, with their ignoble names 
inscribed upon them !” 

“ My dear Fanny,” said Abel, “ in God’s name let us not 
lose all the advantages which the lesson now dispensed to 
us by adversity ought to afford ! If properly received, it can- 
not fail of producing the most beneficial results — results by 
which we shall be purged from that most hateful vice, pride; 
and from which we may hope to reap the benefit of that 
most inestimable virtue, humility. It is a great privilege to 
be so visited — it may be our salvation : when this world 
and all its fascinations shall have passed away, and when 
we shall be where every one born of woman must sooner or 
later be — on the verge of the grave and of eternity, then we 
shall bless the hand that chastened us, and brought us, ere 
it was too late, to a proper sense of the utter nothingness 
of this life !” 

Vol. I.-— 18 


210 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


These observations had their due effect, and tended very- 
much to remove the angry feelings which Mrs. Woodby ’s 
ostentatious visit had excited, They could not, however, 
abstain from discussing the matter at full length as soon as 
Edward Manby appeared ; and after he had received a full 
and detailed account of the whole transaction, he told them 
what they did not know, — that it had become very much 
the fashion to make a card perform as proxy the whole 
business of a visit, and that the visiter’s name upon a piece 
of paper was considered to stand in lieu of ‘ How do you 
do?’ ‘Very well;’ ‘It’s very fine weather;’ — ‘I’m your 
humble servant;’ — which is generally the sum total of one 
of those unmeaning visitations, a morning call. 

This piece of information tended still more than Abel’s 
homily to pacify them ; and they had scarcely done forgiv- 
ing the supposed unkindness, when another loud rap at the 
door was heard, followed up by the appearance of Mr. 
Thomas Goold Woodby, junior, in person, to pay his re- 
spects. This visit altogether calmed the irritation, because 
he confirmed what Edward had asserted, by saying that his 
mother and sisters had scarcely yet had an opportunity to 
announce their arrival in town, and that they had that very 
mornrng sallied out for the first time to leave their cards.” 

“ They might as well come up,” said Bab, “ to see their 
old friends, although we have nothing to give them now ex- 
cepting a hearty welcome.” 

“Indeed,” said Fanny, adopting the same tone, “it 
would have been but kind to take a look at us, although we 
haven’t as good a luncheon to offer as we had at Ivycote.” 

Tom threw as much softness as he could into his bull- 
dog countenance, glancing all the time at the unconscious 
Mary, and said, “ London being so different from the 
country, nobody could expect to see each other except by 
snatches at uncertain times ; but,” he added with a certain 
pomp and emphasis, “ in order to secure a meeting, I am 
come to invite you to dinner, which, after all, is the surest 
way in London to meet.” 

This piece of attention entirely dispelled any remains 
of ill-feeling; and Bab and Fanny looked at each other un- 
certain what to answer. Many considerations would make 
them pause ere they could consent to so unexpected a pro- 
posal, for much was to be considered — expense — dress 

and mode of conveyance. The general desire was to go, 
for Barbara wished once more to meet old Woodby, to 
give him a piece of her mind upon Mexican bonds; Fanny 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


211 


was always for an outing; and Abel, whose whole heart 
and soul were engrossed in providing for his family, thought 
he might find an opening for proposing himself as a teacher 
of the flute, which was now, as he thought, their almost last 
resource. Mary was the only one who gave a dissentient 
voice, for she shunned every opportunity of being in com- 
pany with Tom Woodby. 

As soon as this young gentleman had taken his leave, 
which he did saying that his mother would send the proper 
card of invitation when the day was fixed, the family coun- 
cil opened their deliberations. They talked long and took 
enlarged views of the case. Abel thought the proper way 
of looking at the question was to balance the certain ex- 
pense which they must incur with the uncertain advantages; 
for his part, he was of opinion, in their needy situation, 
that friends were absolutely necessary to them — friends who 
would further any scheme they might have of gaining a 
livelihood: he wished himself to give lessons on the flute, 
which he felt fully competent to do; and therefore by 
accepting the proposed invitation he expected to find a good 
opportunity of opening his plan to such friends as he might 
meet. Barbara applauded his scheme, and moreover added, 
that she, perhaps, might have an opportunity of hinting to 
old Woodby, that as he had been such a gainer by the 
Mexican bond transaction, he ought injustice to help them. 
Abel entreated her not to buoy herself up with such a hope 
and not to expect generosity from one who could have so 
taken advantage of ignorance. Providence and their own 
exertions, he asserted, must now be their main dependence; 
and he made no doubt that however distressed they might 
become, yet still if they exerted their best energies, and 
kept their conscience clear, they would not fail to enjoy 
peace of mind, in itself a greater blessing than all that the 
Woodby wealth could bestow. Fanny remarked, were it 
only for health’s sake, they ought to seek a little dissipation 
and that it was unfair to let a young person like Mary sit 
moping all day long in the house unknown and unseen. 
Mary did not allow herself to give an opinion, excepting to 
assure Aunt Fanny that as far as she was personally con- 
cerned, she was perfectly contented and happy never to stir 
from home. 

When the card came, it was paraded with great state in- 
to the drawing-room by the astounded Betty, who having 
received it from a brilliant lackey, eyed it as a mandate from 
royalty itself. The consequence was the acceptance of the 


212 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


invitation, and Aunt Fanny was empowered to send a pro- 
per answer. Thence ensued an animated discussion upon 
dress. As a week would elapse ere the event took place 
sufficient time was left for preparation. Fanny’s ingenuity 
was required to compose new dresses out of old ones; and 
she exercised it so effectually, that unless to those who had 
witnessed the debut of the gray gown and the cherry-colour- 
ed silk at Belvedere Hall, no one could imagine that they had 
already seen a summer in the country. 

The greatest difficulty to be overcome was the acquisition 
of a pair of new pantaloons for Uncle Abel. By no con- 
trivance could drab be made to look black at night; and as 
it has become part of a man’s system of ethics to dine out 
in black pantaloons, so it became imperative upon Abel either 
to procure such a commodity, or not to go. Chancing to 
walk through a by-lane thinking over this subject, his eyes 
fell upon the notices in the shop-window of an obscure 
tailor, and there he found that the very thing he wanted was 
pressingly offered for twelve shillings. This was so invit- 
ing, that he made up his mind immediately to accede to it, 
walked into the shop, was well received by a small ob- 
lique-looking man, and straightway was measured. He re- 
turned to his sisters triumphant, and told them how well he 
had been aided by fortune, and that all difficulties were now 
overcome. 

In the course of two days arrived the tailor, the bill, and 
the pantaloons. Abel hurried to try them on; but what was 
his dismay when, having succeeded in introducing his legs, 
he stuck somewhere, in the same part as Gulliver did when 
he was thrust into the marrow-bone at Brobdignag! At 
length, at the risk of splitting, he managed to get entirely in; 
but having done so, he could not move — a step would have 
ripped open every seam, and he expostulated to the tailor 
in these words: 

“ This will never do — these things are a great deal too 
tight.” 

“ Are they?” said the tailor. 

“ Yes; don’t you see?” said Abel. 

“ They are a little tight,” said the tailor; “ but they’ll 
soon stretch. 

“ I can scarcely walk in them,” said Abel. 

“ I think they will do very well,” said the tailor. 

“ No, they won’t do at all,” said Abel; “ I can’t straddle 
in them.” 

“ Straddle!” said the tailor; “ no, I didn’t suppose you 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


213 


could! Who ever thought of straddling for twelve shil- 
lings?” 

This was a view of the question which Abel had never 
taken, and to which he knew not what to answer; but it gave 
him an opportunity of making this reflection — that things 
which are extravagantly cheap, are on the whole dearer than 
things extravagantly the contrary. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ C’est V occasion qui fait le larron” Love , like murder , 
will out. 

Since the first commencement of the rivalry for Mary’s 
favour, Tom Woodby and Edward Manby had never been 
friends. Tom, vain of his person and proud of his expec- 
tations, was also envious and implacable. He could never 
conceive that one so poor, so lowly, and of such little note 
as Edward could be preferred before him, and he lost no 
opportunity of exhibiting the bitterness of his dislike and 
the meanness of his spites. He was the cause of his not 
being invited to the dinner; a slight which Edward felt as 
young men are apt to feel on such occasions, particularly 
when their friends are few and their fortunes small. Every- 
thing was in progress in Golden-square in preparation for 
the dinner, and the hour was fast approaching. 

On the day before this event was to take place, Edward 
arrived greatly agitated in Golden-square. Abel was not at 
home: he met Aunt Bab and Fanny on the stairs just going 
out to purchase some necessary bit of dress: they stopped 
him, and observing his hasty and perturbed look, inquired 
what was the matter? “ I am obliged to go to Liverpool 
immediately,” said Edward. They- requested him to wait 
for them in the drawing-room, saying that they would soon 
return. When he entered that room, he found Mary by 
herself. He had never yet had an opportunity of seeing 
her alone, and in truth he had always dreaded it — so full 
of undefined apprehension and secret misgiving is the real 
passion of love. He had been a thousand times on the point 
of disclosing to her by writing what she must long have 
known,, the ardent sentiments of his heart; yet he always 

18 * 


214 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


checked himself by those cogent reflections which we have 
before described: but now his heart was too full, and the 
opportunity too inviting to allow the control of the dictates 
of prudence. She evidently discovered, by his manner and 
countenance, that something unusual had happened; and as 
she saw him approach, her heart beat violently, whilst her 
face was covered with blushes. He began by informing 
her of the necessity of his speedy departure; that he had 
that morning received a letter from his uncle, in which he 
was upbraided for his long absence; and informed that his 
affairs required his immediate return, and in short, that va- 
rious other reasons urged were too powerful for him to re- 
sist. He said that he was too much indebted to his uncle 
for his constant kind behaviour not immediately to attend 
to his wishes, and therefore he was determined to obey his 
call. 

Edward perceived that at the first announcement of this 
piece of intelligence to Mary, she was visibly affected : its 
sudden disclosure had taken her unawares, and she could 
not conceal how much she felt the loss she was about to 
sustain. This tacit acknowledgment of the interest she took 
in his fate entirely overthrew the little power he still re- 
tained over himself ; and ere a minute had elapsed, he had 
made a full and passionate avowal of his love, and opened 
to her, in simple, sincere, and unstudied language, every 
thought and feeling of his heart, entreating her by all that 
was pure and tender to allow 7 him to live in hope that he 
might one day call her his own. 

How could Mary conceal from him what every look and 
action had so long disclosed ? She fully avowed her senti- 
ments ; and having done this, she said, “ But, Edward, 
when I have told you thus much, I feel that there I must 
stop ! — Her eyes filled with tears, and her bosom swelled 
with strong emotion; and then exerting evident violence 
over herself, she continued : “ I cannot and will not bind 
myself to any other being in this world so long as I see my 
uncle and aunts in this state of want to which they are soon 
too likely to be reduced! Putting the promise I have made 
to my father never to marry without his consent out of the 
question, everything tells me that I am theirs as long as this 
state of trial to which they are exposed lasts. God’s will 
be done! — He alone knows what is for our good: but my 
duty is plain — never will I give this hand to any one unless 
by so doing I can prevent the misery of these my dear re- 
lations. You, Edward — kind, feeling, generous as you are, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


215 


I am sure will understand me. You will even second my 
resolution! Let us here swear that no selfish feeling of ours 
shall ever interfere to destroy this sacred intention !” 

Edward was affected to tears by the touching simplicity 
of heart and exalted virtue which shone forth in every look, 
word, and expression of the gentle being before him. He 
would have exacted some more definite promise from her, 
but that he feared to hurt those generous feelings of devotion 
to her relations which actuated her ; and he felt that for the 
present he must remain satisfied with the simple assurance 
of her love. This certainty, secured to him by the warrant 
of her own lips, infused an instantaneous feeling of satisfac- 
tion throughout his being, and comforted him in the doleful 
separation which was about to ensue. They dwelt long 
upon the many and various possibilities which constitute 
that large circumference of hope so apt to surround the 
hearts of the wretched — they contemplated the probability 
of affairs taking a favourable turn in Mexico, by which her 
uncle and aunts would be restored to their independence — 
they discussed the hope of soon seeing Mary’s father, upon 
which so much of their welfare depended ; and then Ed- 
ward, with all the language and confidence of youth, cheered 
op her drooping spirits by adverting to his own prospects, 
which, owing to the kindness of his uncle, whom he was 
now going to propitiate, he asserted were likely to be soon 
very prosperous. 

By the time they had poured out the whole effusion of their 
hearts, and vowed those thousand protestations of eternal 
love which are always better imagined by the reader than 
expressed by the writer, the return of Aunt Barbara and 
Fanny was announced ; and though no time is ever long 
enough for lovers, yet on this occasion its lapse became a 
matter of consequence, since at a fixed hour Edward was 
obliged to take his departure. Abel returned opportunely 
to see him before he went; and having extorted a promise 
from him to write often, he left the house, — we will not 
venture to say for what length of time. 

Edward’s departure produced a great blank in the family 
— for he was not only an agreeable companion, but also its 
friend and adviser. It would be difficult to say who loved 
him the most: Barbara could do nothing without his advice; 
Fanny’s affection for him was of so vacillating a nature, that 
it usuajly vibrated between friendship and love; whilst 
Abel’s esteem for his high qualities was of the most exalted 
kind, for he entirely came up to his ideas of what a man 


216 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


ought to be. With such feelings, perhaps it will not be 
thought extraordinary that neither the uncle nor the aunts 
had remarked, nor had it ever entered their heads to sup- 
pose, that there existed between him and Mary any senti- 
ment beyond that of common friendship. Time had passed 
on in such dull uniformity, that nothing ever occurred to ex- 
cite the passion they mutually felt into anything beyond the 
casual and daily acts of attention and intimacy. So little 
were they aware of the real truth, that it was their habit fre- 
quently to speculate upon the person to whom they would 
accord their darling niece. They scarcely knew any young 
men besides Tom Woodby and Edward: and as they never 
contemplated any attentions from the one, so they generally 
decided that the other would be a very desirable match. His 
behaviour since his family had come to town had very much 
reconciled them to him; Barbara thought it very civil on his 
part to pay them a visit purposely to ask them to dinner; 
Fanny asserted that he was a very genteel young man, and 
Abel, who had long foreseen all the miseries of poverty, 
would often speculate as to the eligibility of marrying his 
niece to so wealthy a man, in order to screen her from the 
wretchedness in prospect. They therefore constantly urged 
Mary to receive him with more alacrity than she was accus- 
tomed to show when he appeared. 

The very morning of Edward’s departure, when poor 
Mary’s bosom heaved with sorrow, and she appeared visi- 
bly dejected, the very subject she most avoided was brought 
under discussion. “ We must endeavour to compensate for 
Edward’s absence by making a great deal more of Tom 
Woodby than we have done,” said Aunt Bab. “ It stands 
to reason that if he’s discouraged he won’t come near us. 
My dear Mary,” (addressing her,) “ I wish you would man- 
age to make yourself agreeable to him! — you do always so 
keep him at a distance, that it is quite shocking to see you!” 

“ I’m quite certain,” said Fanny, “ if Mary would only 
look at him straight, take her head from off her work when 
he talks to her, and give him good long answers, not short 
‘Noes,’ without a single ‘Yes’ to bless himself with, he 
would be as easy and comfortable with us as an old shoe.” 

Abel would have said something also, but that he re- 
marked the subject was disagreeable to her. He approached 
her, and taking her hand, said, “ lam afraid, my dear, that 
you are not very well: let us hope that a little'dissipation 
will do you good. You have been oppressed by the dull 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


217 


life we lead: to-morrow you will go out and see some new 
faces — I fear you will sadly tire of ours.” 

Mary’s heart was full, and this act of kindness made it 
overflow. She burst into tears, and kissing her uncle with 
affection, left the room. 

“ I am afraid that poor dear,” said Fanny, “ is sadly 
moped: she has not had a bit of gaiety, excepting the hand- 
organs and hurdy-gurdies in the square, since we have been 
here. She must positively go out — I wish the Goold Wood- 
bys were giving a ball instead of a dinner to-morrow.” 

“ It stands to reason,” said Aunt Bab, “ that young things 
like her must have gaiety, or else they will die. I recollect 
very well when I was young, I nearly killed myself by 
teaching the charity children in our village to sing the hun- 
dredth Psalm — it was so dull and they were so obstinate: 
but a good game at blindman’s buff put it all to rights — and 
so will the Woodby’s dinner put Mary to rights.” 

“You do not think that Tom Woodby can have proposed to 
her yet?” said Fanny with a mysterious air. “ You know 
few young girls can be asked the question without wincing 
— and I think all that crying and seriousness looks very 
suspicious. I recollect very well, when that Captain Raw- 
bone had the impertinence to propose for me, with his red 
whiskers and freckled skin, I was so put out for a day or 
two that I could not eat, and got as thin as my stays through 
fretting.” 

“ I think what you now suggest to be impossible;” said 
Bab; “ because Mary tells us everything the very moment it 
happens. She’s not a girl to keep anything to herself, all ex- 
cepting her fear for her dear father’s safety; I am afraid that 
does weigh upon her heavily: poor thing! how she does 
dote upon him!” 

God’s will be done!” said Abel with a deep sigh and a 
most reverential tone of voice. “ If we do not hear from 
him soon, I shall begin to be anxious.” 

The conversation which had so unseasonably taken place 
concerning Tom Woodby, had in truth been the cause' of 
Mary’s retreat to her room. Coming almost immediately 
upon the back of her explanation with Edward* it had 
shocked her, because she felt, now that he was gone, how 
much she would be exposed to the attentions and observa- 
tion of his rival. She quite loathed his sight— rand with 
good reason, for the motives which impelled him were in 
every way most wicked and profligate. 

This young gentleman’s ambition was to be thought a 


218 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


man of fashion and pleasure. He was encouraged by his 
foolish mother and sisters in this pursuit; but ignorant as 
he was of the many requisites which make up that character 
his vulgar mind could only imagine the depravity and the 
vice, without including any of the refinement so essential 
to its complete formation. He provided himself with all 
the proper exteriors, and then thought that he might com- 
pete with the best in the land. His little person was dressed 
out with scrupulous precision; he kept aloof from the com- 
mon herd, and disdaining to make use of his legs, was car- 
ried about at the tail of a tall horse, escorted by a wretched 
boy in the guise of a groom. He did his best to get into 
good clubs, but not gaining admittance there, he became a 
swaggering member of the worst. 

When the ruin of the Allnutts was announced, his wicked 
heart beat with joy; for nothing more was wanting to com- 
plete his equipment than to become the tyrant over some 
weak and wretched outcast — nay, his. malignant desires 
dared soar to the possession of the pure and gentle Mary, 
particularly as in compassing her ruin, he intended to ex- 
hibit his superiority as well as his contempt for his more 
favoured rival Edward. It was he who insisted with his 
parents that they should visit the family, and invite them 
to dinner. This had been a subject of fierce contention at 
home; but Tom’s determined resolution carried the day — 
he had laid a plan in his own head for pursuing his iniqui- 
tous scheme; and as he was not deficient in skill and cun- 
ning, he sagaciously determined to secure the approbation 
of the old folks on his side, ere he undertook his greater 
exploit. The truth is, that Mrs. Goold Woodby, impelled 
by Lady Thomson, had determined not to visit the Allnutts 
in London; for her object in life was to raise herself by en- 
deavouring to associate with the rich and great; and what 
had she to gain, beyond the vulgar enjoyment of doing a 
kind act, by continuing her intimacy with them? She ar- 
rived from the country full of the most extensive schemes 
of ‘ cutting a figure,’ and brought Lady Thomson with her 
as her dry-nurse. Lady Thomson planned her luxuries, 
and chose the fashion of her liveries, introduced her to the 
fashionable tradesmen, and threw her into the arms of ex- 
travagant milliners. She moreover supplied her with visit- 
ing lists*, and never lost an opportunity of making obligations 
a marketable commodity, turning the civilities conferred 
upon her friend to her own benefit. She was ingenuity 
personified in executing any act of baseness, in order to se- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


219 


cure the notice of the great; and was equally full of talent 
in avoiding those whom it was inconvenient to know. But 
her scheme of ‘ cutting’ the Allnutts became abortive, ow- 
ing to the too powerful influence of the arrogant and petu- 
lant Tom, who, in spite of the stinginess and surliness of 
his father, and the ambitious views of his mother, had ac- 
quired a sway in the family which nothing could withstand. 
Lady Thomson herself was obliged to lower herdiminished 
head; and bully Tom, as he was occasionally called, had it 
all his own way. 


- ‘ •' , 


. ; “ 

, - V 














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ABEL ALLNUTT, 


A NOVEL. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF 


“ HAJJI BABA,” “ ZOHRAB,” &c. 


And if I have done well as is fitting the story, it is that which I desired ; but 
if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain unto. 

2 Maccabees, xv. 38. 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. II. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

E. L. CAREY & A. HART. 


1837 , 





✓ 


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ABEL ALL NUTT 


CHAPTER I. 

Town vanities and ridiculous pretensions. 

Among a knot of men who were standing together idling 
away their morning at the window of one of the clubs, 
stood Mr. Simpleton Sharp, the dull-witted young gentle- 
man we have before noticed, and his friend Lord Demone. 

“By the by, Demone,” said he, “ do you dine at those 
rich citizen friends of yours, the Woodby Goolds, or Sil- 
ver Woodbys, or some such name, to-day ? they have sent 
me an invite to meet the widow Thomson, or Thomas, or 
some name of that sort — I hope you go ?” 

“How can you mistake names in that manner?” said 
Demone : “ the people’s names are Goold Woodby. Every- 
body would be as much surprised were I to call them 
Woodby Goold, as if I were to call you Sharp Simple- 
ton ?” 

This raised such a laugh at the expense of the affected 
coxcomb, that he retired as fast as he could, not without 
reflecting how he might make use of the joke again to his 
own advantage. These two worthies formed part of the 
society that were to assemble at Mr. Goold Woodby’s din- 
ner, on the same day that our friends from Golden-square 
were invited ; and we must take up our history from the 
moment that a hackney-coach, the most sonorific of its 
kind, resounding with clashing iron steps, and creaking 
with uneasy springs, stopped at the door of the well- 
known three-windowed mansion in Baker-street, and an- 
nounced its arrival by an abortive knock from the unprac- 
tised hand of the drab-coated driver. As soon as the door 
was opened, appeared a host of liveried louts within, who 
seemed to be running one against another, unpractised as 
they were in their vocation ; and soon was heard the jin- 
Vol. II— 2 


14 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


gling crash of the iron steps let down from the vehicle hi 
order to promote the delivery that was to ensue. First 
issued Abel, leading out Aunt Bab, in all the pomp and 
circumstance of her gray gown, followed by Fanny glis- 
tening in her cherry colour, and succeeded by Mary; alas ! 
how different in air and in buoyancy of spirits from that 
day when she first appeared at Belvedere. Straw was 
not wanting to track their line of march ; and they would 
have been so tracked into the very drawing-room, had not 
they discovered among the servants honest Brown, their 
old country servant, who in almost worshipping the ground 
they trod upon, also cleared away the straws that adhered 
to their skirts. 

The facetious Demone, whose quickness in the detec- 
tion of ridicule always supplied him with an appropriate 
nick-name, ere he finished his late visit at Belvedere Hall, 
had grafted the name of Barbarossa upon Aunt Bab, on 
account of certain sprigs of reddish hair that grew about 
her lips and chin. Aunt Fanny, too, he illustrated as la 
Fanee ; whilst Abel, in allusion to his teeth, he invariably 
called Curius JDentatus. These different designations, 
ever since his lordship’s visit (particularly since the Mexi- 
can defalcation), were become current in the Goold Wood- 
by family ; and the individuals in question were scarcely 
known by any other names, excepting that Mrs. Goold 
Woodby would usually exert her talent in slip-slop, by 
calling the last “ Curious ’ tatoes .” 

It appears that the intention of Mrs. Woodby had only 
been to invite Abel and Mary to dinner. A large portion 
of the company had already arrived, when the Miss Ali- 
nutts and Mr. Allnutt were announced. Mrs. Woodby, 
her daughters, and Lady Thomson, all looked thunder- 
struck, particularly as one after the other in goodly proces- 
sion filtered through the door into the room — first Aunt 
Bab escorted by Abel, then Aunt Fanny, and last of all, 
Mary. All who- know what giving a dinner in London 
means, and are conversant in the ceremony of counting 
noses, may perhaps imagine what Mrs. Goold Woodby 
felt when she saw two more persons arrive than were ex- 
pected. The circumstance almost took away her breath ; 
she met the whole party in so perturbed a state of mind, that 
her reception of them was even more chilling than that she 
might have given to a poor cousin approaching her to claim 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


15 


relationship. Abel, being humble, did not see why be 
should be received with <?ordiality, and the circumstance 
by him was unheeded ; but Aunts Bab and Fanny could 
scarcely recover their astonishment, and had it been in 
their nature to be angry they would have been greatly so. 

Whisperings ensued — Lady Thomson was appealed to 
— she shook her head ; the girls looked hot and put out ; 
Mr. Woodby got up what cordiality he could, but it was 
quite deficient in the old vibration of the elbow ; and in 
short, the preliminary to this expected feast portended 
from the first nothing but a concoction of crude humours. 

“I only asked 1 Curious ’ tatoes ’ and his niece to come,” 
said Mrs. Woodby to Lady Thomson ; “ what could 
make old Barbarossa and Fanny come too — what shall we 
do ?” 

“ You can’t help yourself now,” said Lady Thomson ; 
“ in justice to yourself you can’t turn them away : ’tis 
Tom who has done this. You must contrive to make 
two more places at the table upon which, ringing the 
bell for the servant, more whisperings ensued, and the agi- 
tation for the moment subsided. 

After the usual progress, arranged according to the 
strictest adherence to rank, had taken place down the 
staircase towards the dining-room, and when the august 
assembly had after much difficulty seated themselves, it 
was found that the addition of the two supernumeraries 
had rendered the whole operation in prospect about as 
irksome as sitting four in a chariot, or playing the fiddle in 
a sentry-box. In point of comfort it was a dinner very 
much like the one described by Boileau : 

Oil chacun, malgre soi, l’un sur l’autre porte, 

Faisoit un tour a gauche, et mangeoit de c6te. 

To the vulgar-minded, display is pleasure, ceremony is 
good breeding, and expense is excellence. Mrs. Goold 
Woodby and her husband were eminent instances of this : 
although they were in essentials the most niggardly and 
avaricious of mortals, yet on occasions of display they for- 
got their avarice in order to indulge their vanity. The 
room was lighted to almost oven heat, and when to that 
M’fire added the steam and fumes of the dinner, both act- 
ing violently upon the spiracles of the skin belonging to 
the attendants, it may, perhaps, be imagined how great 


16 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


was the oppression produced by the exercise of eating in 
such an atmosphere. In such -heat and under such cir- 
cumstances little was left for the free action of the in- 
tellect. 

Lady Thomson, however, who had made up her mind 
to shine on this occasion, had got up a scrap of literary 
talk, and after several unavailing efforts, having at length 
given her opinion upon some of the productions of the 
day, undertook to defend the book of a friend of hers, a 
lady author, by asserting “ that she had written it for the 
purpose of charity.” 

“ She ought to recollect,” said her opposite neighbour, 
Lord Demone, “that ‘charity begins at home;’” an an- 
swer which excited Lady Thomson’s wrath in proportion 
as it was applauded by Simpleton Sharp. 

Mr. Woodby having long since exhausted the subject of 
his lodges, his shields, and his family mottos, had now set 
up a new idol in his mind, and that was the size and ex- 
cellence of a kitchen he had constructed in his house in 
Baker-street. This subject was now become the terror of 
his friends, and formed his stock story. We have already 
before hinted that he was celebrated for want of hospitality, 
excepting on such occasions as the present (if such may 
be called hospitality), and therefore, the discussion of this 
great kitchen only made him appear the more ridiculous in 
relating its history. He had undertaken to describe it in 
its most minute circumstances to Aunt Fanny, who lent an 
attentive ear, and seemed as much absorbed in the various 
intricacies of the steam apparatus, patent spit, and ingeni- 
ously devised oven, as the narrator could wish, whilst De- 
mone secretly gave his attention and enjoyed the whole 
scene with malicious amusement. At length Woodby ex- 
claimed, “Why, ma’am, in short, my kitchen is so large 
that I could roast an ox in it.” 

Fanny, with the greatest simplicity of mind, gently said, 
“And do you ?” — a question which so intensely tickled 
the wit’s fancy that he could not refrain from bursting into 
such laughter that it immediately excited Simpleton Sharp’s 
sympathies ; who thinking it quite sacrilegious when his 
Joe Miller had taken to laugh himself that he should not 
join, laughed too with all his best energies. 

Aunt Bab and Abel, perceiving that laughter had been 
excited by something that Fanny had said, were involun- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


17 


tarily filled with dismay, being quite certain that in pro- 
portion as she promoted merriment in others she produced 
confusion to them. Old Woodby’s story was stopped by 
this explosion, and as in a farm-yard one oftentimes hears 
a distant donkey take up the expiring bray of one near at 
hand, so, as soon as the husband had ceased to speak, the 
wife immediately broke out into some of her usual ill-timed 
remarks. She cried out from the further end of the long 
table to her husband, 

“Now, Mr. Woodby, do you hear that! Here’s Mr. 
Allnutt says that Edward Manby is gone back to Liverpool, 
and without ever coming to see us or wishing us good 
b’ye — now is not that ungrateful of him !” 

“ He was obliged to go,” said Abel, “ at a moment’s no- 
tice; his uncle wrote to him in a great hurry.” 

“ There’s no excuse for him — now is there, Lord De- 
mone!” addressing herself to him, seeing that no one else 
would listen to her. 

“ There is only one excuse, which is necessity,” said 
Lord Demone. 

“ One day could make no difference. Now need he go 
so soon, I only ask you that, — need he go !” 

“ Why he would go needy if he did not,” said the in- 
corrigible joker. 

“ That’s what he will do at all events,” said the lady, 
not in the least perceiving the point of the answer which 
she had received ; “ Edward Manby will never get on in 
the world — now mark my words — he thinks a great deal 
too much about right and wrong.” 

“ He can never go wrong as long as he acts rightly,” 
said Abel, with spirit. 

“ He may go right, and welcome, as long as he chooses,” 
said Mrs. Goold Woodby; “ and to do right is all very well 
in its way ; but really I don’t see why he should give him- 
self airs of consequence, and come Sir Charles Grandson 
over us; for after all, Mr. Goold Woodby has treated him 
more like his own son than anything else.” 

Tom Woodby, who felt that it was owing to his conduct 
that Edward had been driven from the house, and fearing 
that something unpleasant to himself might be elicited by 
this untimely discussion, turned the conversation by mak- 
ing some common-place remark upon the Opera, giving 
himself the airs of a patron of dancers and singers, and all 
2 * 


18 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


this, as he fondly hoped, to make an impression upon his 
neighbour, the (to him) impassive Mary. 

The eyes of all at table had been turned upon her rare 
beauty, a sight truly refreshing amidst the ostentatious dis- 
play and oppressive finery which filled the room. The 
women were envious of her charms, the men were lost in 
admiration. Tom, with that sort of presumption which the 
eminently low are so apt to possess, comported himself in 
a manner which, he flattered himself, would make every 
one suppose that he stood first in her good graces. He 
was officiously attentive to her w r ants ; he would occasion- 
ally bend himself towards her, speak in a confidential whis- 
per, then turn about to see if he was observed ; and when 
he perceived how much she was annoyed, would instantly 
take upon himself.the airs of being the director and patron 
of the whole table, drinking wine with one, rallying a se- 
cond, and recommending good things to a third. To Aunt 
Bab he was peculiarly attentive, for he was sagacious 
enough to discern that she was the ascendant in that family 
horizon, and that he must secure her influence before he 
could compass any end he might have in view relating to 
her niece. 

As for Abel, he saw in Tom one who might be the means 
of promoting his views of setting up as a teacher of the 
flute ; and during the course of the entertainment his prin- 
cipal thoughts were turned upon that one object; he there- 
fore received the bad young man’s advances with good-will. 
He looked into the face of every man at table, with the hope 
that in the conformation of his lips he might discover one 
who was fond of blowing into a small hole. He conceived 
that in Lord Demone he had discovered that man, for by 
the cast of his face he deemed him to be musical, and as 
his chest was broad, he made no doubt that there was no- 
thing in his lungs to impede the scheme he had of teaching 
him the flute. With the same eye he viewed Simpleton 
Sharp and Tom Woodby — they were both tolerable sub- 
jects. Old Mr. Woodby evidently would not do, his lips 
were certainly nonconductors of sweet sounds ; but he felt 
sure that, if he could start with the three aforementioned, 
with that capital alone, he flattered himself he might keep 
his sisters from starving. There were two or three more 
upon whom he speculated, but not being acquainted with 
them, he allowed himself to be satisfied with those he knew. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


19 


Accordingly, when dinner was over, calling Tom on one 
side, and prefacing what he had to say with a short account 
of the necessitous situation to which they were reduced, 
he unfolded his scheme and begged his assistance. 

Tom, who at one glance saw how entirely he would 
have the free ingress to the house by furthering Abel’s 
wishes, entered into the scheme with the greatest apparent 
zeal, and assured him that he would not only become a 
scholar himself, but that he would induce Lord Demone 
and Simpleton Sharp to follow his example, and with them, 
as a beginning, he made no doubt that ere long he would 
have as many pupils as he could wish. Abel’s eyes filled 
with tears of gratitude, and he thanked him with unsus- 
pecting sincerity. 

Feeilng by this arrangement he would be placed beyond 
the reach of downright want, his spirits became elated, and 
his sisters afterwards said that they had never seen Abel in 
such good-humour since that specimen of happiness he 
evinced in the first part of the fete at Ivycote. 

But it was different with them. They had not overcome 
the shock of Mrs. Woodby’s cold reception, and they 
longed for the moment of departure. They sat by them- 
selves after dinner unheeded and neglected. The admira- 
tion excited by Mary had produced no favourable feelings 
towards her in the hearts of the young ladies, and they 
scarcely noticed her by even the common forms of civility. 
Indeed the whole thing, from the beginning to the end, had 
been one uniform action of ponderous dulness to them ; and 
wherever people meet together, as is frequently the case, 
not for the purposes of exchanging ideas, but solely to ex- 
hibit dress and persons, to eat, and drink, and to go away, 
such must ever be the result. 

Wc will not continue our narrative of this dinner to its 
very termination, for fear of inspiring some of that dulness 
in our readers which was its characteristic; but we can 
assure them that it was complete in all its parts. The ladies 
sat, yawned, perambulated, and talked of long and short 
sleeves, till they were relieved by the gentlemen and cof- 
fee. Several refreshers — among whom were Captain Swag- 
gle and Mr. Dolittle — were afterwards announced, whence 
ensued flirtations — then a sensation was produced by the 
arrival of the lion of the evening, Mrs. Goold Woodby’s 
first cousin, the great Mr. Flam, from Chingiput, famous 


20 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


for having wrestled with a royal tiger in the Sunderbunds 

afterwards a song took place by Miss Anne, succeeded 

by variations on the harp by Miss Ellen, which led to a 
general departure. So ended a day expected to have been 
full of enjoyment, but which terminated in disgust, having 
however fulfilled one of its principal expectations, namely 
—to set up Abel as a teacher of the German flute. 


CHAPTER II. 

& 

It is like trusting to the wind , depending upon teaching 
the flute for daily bread . 

Lord Demone was one of Mary’s most ardent admirers. 
So artless in manner, so engaging in her whole deport- 
ment, and so eminently beautiful, her appearance in the 
company and in the scene to which we have referred in the 
last chapter, was so unlike those who met on that occasion 
in the full exercise of all their grosser appetites, and mental 
corruptions, that it was impossible not to be greatly struck 
by the comparison. He viewed her through the medium 
of those appetites. When he reflected upon himself and 
his own person, he felt that he never could succeed in at- 
tracting her notice, and often said to himself, “ I suppose 
she looks upon me as a disgusting old man, old enough to 
be her father.” Still he longed to render himself acceptable 
to her; and when Tom Woodby, after making the proper 
explanations concerning the needy state of the family, 
couched in sentiments current among libertines, proposed 
to him to become Abel’s scholar, the profligate man soon 
aceeeded to the proposal, hoping that by exerting his lungs 
in favour of the uncle he might stand a chance of gaining 
the heart of his niece. When Tom applied to Simpleton 
Sharp for the same purpose, he at first objected upon the 
score of the weakness of his chest, besides having no po- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


21 


sitive ear for music ; but when he was told that Lord De- 
mone had agreed to the proposal, he no longer made any 
difficulty. Thus Abel was supplied with three pupils ; 
and we beg the reader to introduce himself in imagination 
into a small front parlour looking into Golden-square, where 
Abel, having received the notification that his three scholars 
would wait upon him during the course of the morning, 
was making the proper preparations for their reception. 
Happiness beamed in his heart, and expressions of grati- 
tude would ever and anon burst from his lips for what he 
looked upon as a providential interposition ; that want 
which was staring him in the face he hoped to stave off; 
those creditors who would inevitably come for their due, he 
now hoped to meet with a ready hand ; and he blessed God 
that the talent which he possessed, so dispised and scouted 
as it had been by his sisters, should now be the means of 
procuring for them a livelihood. He spread a table in the 
middle of the room, covered it with a bit of green baize, 
and there made a display of his flute and music. Against 
several large folios he raised his music-book ; and then, 
walking round and round, he gazed upon what he had done 
with as much self-complacency as if he had raised an altar 
to the God of Harmony. His sisters and Mary came down 
to help him, dusting every corner, cleaning every chair and 
table, and preparing for the reception of his scholars with 
unfeigned interest, their hearts at the same time overflowing 
with the kindest feelings towards him, for that devotedness 
to them which characterised his every thought and action. 

Were we asked to draw the strongest contrast we could 
imagine between man and man, we should name Abel All- 
nutt and Lord Demone. Behold the simple, unsuspecting, 
and sincere Abel, endeavouring to make the designing, in- 
sidious, and sensual Demone screw up his lips into such a 
focus that they might blow into the small aperture of a 
flute ; labouring to adjust his fingers ; entreating of him to 
infuse his breath into the hole instead of its side ; every 
now and then slapping his hands with ecstacy as soon as 
his lordship produced some hideous sound, which he af- 
firmed made an excellent beginning. The crafty pupil 
laughed in his sleeve at the zeal of the master, and at the 
probation to which he had subjected himself. He soon 
got tired of the efforts he was called upon to make, and 
when he announced that the lesson was over for that day, 


22 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Abel felt hurt that so little had been required of him, and 
that his pupil had made such small progress. Tom Wood- 
by and Simpleton Sharp came in succession, and the time 
was passed more in settling preliminaries for future proceed- 
ings than in any actual lesson, much to the delight of Abel, 
who, enthusiastic as he was about music, contemplated the 
hope of establishing a sort of morning academy, in which 
his pupils eagerly joined, particularly when he fully ac- 
quiesced in their proposal of joining Mary, who was a 
good musician, to their concert. Demone loudly pro- 
claimed that if Miss Mary came, he intended to play 
apart , an inuendo which no one understood excepting 
the libertine Tom, who now for the first time perceived 
that he might have to combat another rival in his noble 
friend. 

The result of this morning’s labour was that the whole 
party adjourned to visit the ladies up-stairs, who received 
them with appropriate smiles and welcome. Aunt Bar- 
bara, ’tis true, only saw in them so many representatives 
of the few shillings that were to be the remuneration of 
each lesson ; but Fanny took a more sentimental view of 
the case, and began to think that swains might abound as 
well in Golden-square as among the fields and grassy banks 
of the country. She renewed her former acquaintance 
with Lord Demone, who did not allow his good breeding 
to forsake him as he met her advances, although he groaned 
under the apprehension that he might be obliged again, to 
undergo the history of brother John, or be led out on the 
leads to admire the beauties of a kitchen chimney. 

Mary made an effort in furtherance of the wishes of her 
aunts and uncle to render herself agreeable to their guests, 
and now turned a less reluctant ear to the insipid inanities 
of Tom Woodby’s remarks and flattery, hoping thereby 
to prove herself willing to sacrifice her own feelings to 
those of her relations. The visit, however, had scarcely 
commenced ere the postman’s knock was heard at the door, 
and presently a letter was delivered to her uncle. Looking 
at its address, he exclaimed, “ From Edward Manby, I 
declare !” and then opened it with great demonstrations of 
delight. 

Mary visibly changed colour at this announcement, a 
circumstance which immediately caught the eye of Tom, 
and which did not escape the observation of Demone. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


23 


“ What did you say ?” said Aunt Bab to her brother, 
with much animation. 

“Here is news from John,” answered Abel, intent upon 
reading the letter with the greatest earnestness. 

“ News from papa!” exclaimed Mary, jumping up from 
her seat and running to her uncle in a transport of delight, 
her cheek flushed, and her eyes beaming with joy. “What 
does he say ? Is he well ? — Is he coming to us ? — do tell 
me!” she exclaimed in one breath; whilst Abel, still read- 
ing, answered, “He ’s very well, he ’s not coming I’ll 
tell you all in a minute.” 

The arrival, of this letter made the parties interested in 
it so forgetful of the presence of their visiters, that Lord 
Demone thought it right to take his leave, and, dragging 
the others with him, left the family to the free expansion 
of their feelings. 

“ Read it to us,” said Barbara. 

“ Read,” said Fanny. 

Abel being seated, Mary posted herself close to him in 
order to feast her eyes upon the letter for more reasons than 
one, and he read as follows : 

“My dear Friend , 

“ I write in great haste to inform you that I have seen 
the master of a merchantman, an intelligent man, who only 
arrived yesterday from Vera Cruz, and who informs me 
that he had heard of your brother John, although he had 
not seen him, and that he was in good health and spirits, 
notwithstanding the failure of the expedition upon which 
he was sent, owing to the causes truly described by your 
banker. He reports he was well known to the inhabitants 
of that city, who never before had seen one so zealous, 
active, and enthusiastic, and so ready to devote himself to 
the interests of the republic. The fortress of San Juan de 
Ulloa, still in the hands of the Spaniards, he proposed to 
take by erecting one of Perkins’ steam-guns against it, 
and talked of battering down the walls in an hour. The 
barren Island of Sacrificios, famous for being the burial- 
place of the ancient Indians, he promised to render emi- 
nently fertile, by ploughing it and using the old bones as 
manure, which he assured the people would make vegeta- 
tion spring up where it had never before appeared. He 
objected to allowing the sopilotes (the carrion vultures) to 


24 


ABEL ALLNUl'T. 


retain the situation of scavengers to the city; asserting 
that they ought to be shot by act of congress, and good 
wholesome sewers constructed instead. 

“ His first impression upon seeing the naked Indians 
was to encourage manufactures, in order to clothe them 
comfortably ; and when he observed the sickly little chil- 
dren crawling about the streets, he immediately planned an 
infant school for them. In short, it seems that Vera Cruz 
was set quite alive by his presence. He made the autho- 
rities, civil and military, stare by the activity of his dispo- 
sition, and indeed they were right glad when he left their 
city for Jalapa, at which place I hear he became more and 
more enthusiastic. Before he reached Mexico, he twice 
escaped being robbed and murdered, and in consequence 
determined to urge the government to establish a new po- 
lice, precisely upon the plan of our own ; and when he 
came in sight of the Lake of Tescuco, its ducks, and flat- 
bottomed boats, he became quite wild with the desire of 
turning such natural advantages to the greatest possible 
national benefit. My informant did not tell me what his 
ulterior plans were ; but it does not appear that he is likely 
to quit Mexico for some time to come. I will keep you 
well informed whenever I hear more : in the meanwhile 
let me congratulate you all, (Miss Mary in particular,) up- 
on knowing him to be in good health. 

“I am sorry that I can’t say much in favour of my own 
prospects. The story is a long one and would take up 
more time than I can at present afford. It shall be for 
your private ear, when please God me meet again : in the 
meanwhile, pray recollect that I am wholly and entirely 
yours, devoted to your service, and that I only live in the 
hope of proving the truth and sincerity of my friendship. 

“ Ever your affectionate 

“Edward Manby.” 

“ P. S. The master of the ship says that things in Mex- 
ico are in a very unsettled state, and that the merchants are 
all very desponding. Alas ! alas !” 

This letter puts flutes and flute-players entirely out of 
their heads for the moment, and they discussed its contents 
from morning till night, making every sort of conjecture 
upon what might be John’s ultimate fate. Mary sat down 
in deep thought, every now and then anxious to join her 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


25 


father, and then subduing that feeling by the reflection that 
she would be better employed in being of use to her uncle 
and aunts. She deeply sighed as she fixed her thoughts 
upon Edward, and became impatient to know what lie 
meant, when he alluded to the untoward state of his own 
prospects. In the united view which they all took of their 
situation, they agreed that, for the present, patience was 
their best remedy, for there was no chance of a turn in 
their favour as far as regarded Mexican affairs, for some 
time to come. Barbara took heart, and did not dispair of 
disposing of her cookery-book in verse to some good-natured 
publisher. Fanny avowed her determination to work her 
fingers to the bone in making fancy things, and Mary was 
only anxious to find a place as governess. — As for Abel, 
his hopes were quite elated with his essay as a teacher of 
the flute. It was true, their funds were rapidly diminish- 
ing, and that rent-day was fast approaching ; but then more 
pupils might come : they had Tom Woodby for their friend, 
and he was rich, — then Edward Manby might return to 
them, — Mark Woodcock was not to be forgotten, — and on 
the whole, with such like prospects, and with a sincere 
reliance upon Providence, they determined that they could 
not call themselves very ill off. 

Lord Dernone, in leaving the house, was more absorbed 
in admiration of Mary than ever. She, on the other hand, 
was happy in having found one who would in some mea- 
sure screen her from the obtrusiveness of Tom, and there- 
fore encouraged his conversation ; which indeed she did, 
distinct from any other consideration, because he was an 
eminently agreeable man. He could talk good sense when- 
ever he chose, and always managed to enliven whatever 
he had to say by so much happy illustration that it was 
impossible not to be amused. He was of an age which 
rendered his society harmless to a young person, as far as 
the attraction of looks might be of consequence ; but, un- 
der that plea, he felt that he could make his advances un- 
noticed. 

Great indeed must be the corruption of that man’s heart 
who, at an age when he ought to be fighting his way to the 
end of his pilgrimage, having already completed more than 
one half of it, — is only bent upon pursuing a course of 
systematic depravity ! But such was this personage. Liv- 
ing among those who were charmed by his wit, and who 
Vol. II. — 3 


26 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


looked upon pleasure as the only object in life, he was de- 
barred from the wholesome restorative of serious thoughts 
by the never-ceasing poison of adulation. The supremacy 
decreed to him was his greatest trial ; and he never acquired 
sufficient strength of mind to reflect how less to be envied 
he was in truth, than the man who, gradually retiring from 
the world, passes his life in ascertaining the corruption of 
his nature and in endeavouring to subdue it. 

Tom was enraged when he found that Demone was 
likely to be his competitor in his own scheme of iniquity, 
and often did he upbraid himself for having been the means 
of introducing him to Abel as a scholar. As they were 
walking away, he laughed at Abel and his flute, and pur- 
posely made it a point to cry down the utter folly of learn- 
ing that instrument from such a master. Demone, too 
shrewd not to discover the object of Tom’s remarks and 
his real feelings, upheld Abel, and asserted that a morning 
thus spent was extremely pleasant ; and that for his part, 
intending to pursue the science of music with ardour, he 
made no doubt he should soon become a great proficient. 
Upon which, Tom, wishing further to sift Demone con- 
cerning Mary, and at the same time to turn the subject of 
their discourse, said, alluding to a poor dowager duchess, 
to whom it was reported that the peer was paying his ad- 
dresses, — “ By the bye, the report is that you are to marry 
the duchess : is that true ?” 

“True!” said Demone, — “it is about as true as that 
Mary Allnutt wishes to marry you. No, no! that report 
is utterly unfounded . — Your grace without dinner, will 
never do !” 

“ Excellent !” exclaimed Simpleton Sharp ; “ that’s the 
best thing I have heard to-day, — saying grace without 
dinner! Capital!” 

Tom walked away sulky and disconcerted. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


27 


i 


CHAPTER III. 

Jin explosion of ivickedness described , to which the in- 
nocent mtist be exposed when they associate with the 

guilty . 

The days now glided on in Golden-square very much in 
the same routine that we have just described. Abel gave 
lessons in the morning, and the afternoon was passed in 
the drawing-room in the company of the persons before 
named. Lord Demone had succeeded in making himself 
very acceptable in the eyes of Mary. As a man of the 
world, he was delighted to find a mind so new to all its 
ways, and she was never sated with the charm of his con> 
versation. He would talk to her upon the various subjects 
which make up the business of a man of pleasure, and 
amuse her with anecdotes of every thing then passing in 
the world. She, who scarcely ever heard any thing but 
discussions upon family affairs, listened to the details of 
passing events, the cabal of parties, the conduct of states- 
men, and the intrigues of courts, with the interest of one 
who hears the narrative of some portion of history. He 
entertained her with accounts of modem literature, dis- 
cussed the merits of books, and, without appearing to do 
so, informed her mind whilst he amused her imagination, 
seasoning his whole discourse by flashes of wit and happy 
allusions. His object was to secure her confidence, and 
every time he saw her, he felt assured that he was attain- 
ing that object. She was now always happy to see him, 
and he had so entirely succeeded in keeping Tom Woodby 
at a distance, that that circumstance alone was sufficient to 
awaken her gratitude. 

One day, after he had been describing the success of a 
new play, and the attraction of the popular actor of the 
day, he proposed that Mary with her uncle and aunts 
should accompany him to see it. She was quite overjoyed 
at the proposal, for she had never seen a play acted in her 
life, and immediately made it known to them. They at 
first acquiesced with the greatest alacrity, and nothing was 
talked of in the house but the pleasure which they were 
about to enjoy ; but when the more serious discussion of 


28 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


expense took place, Abel and Barbara found, that what 
with the hire of the coach, and what with the share of the 
box which they felt themselves called upon to propose 
paying, they would throw away as much money in the 
search of amusement as would suffice for several days’ 
maintenance. They therefore felt it right to forego the 
enjoyment ; but when Lord Demone informed them that 
he could carry two in his chariot, and that a friend had 
lent him the box, Barbara and Abel, avowing their inten- 
tion te stay at home, insisted that Fanny and Mary should 
accompany him. This was at length so arranged, and 
Tom Woodby having also been invited to be of the party, 
he agreed to meet them at the theatre. 

When a man is totally without principle, by which we 
mean religious principle, (for what other can there be ?) 
his mind is fearfully open to temptation : with such a man, 
Satanic impulses have as great a range, as ruin and devas- 
tation have over a fair piece of ground which lies unfenced 
and unprotected ; whichever of the vices assail him, he 
has nothing to oppose to it, but at once allows it to enter his 
heart as freely as if there was neither conscience nor re- 
tribution at hand to check him. The man of the world is 
only held back by what is commonly called honour ; and 
where that honour does not intervene, finding nothing to 
curb him, he proceeds fearlessly in quest of his own grati- 
fication. In the iastance before us, Lord Demone, in pro- 
posing this scheme of going to the playhouse with Mary, 
only followed a temptation which had long been goading 
him on, in spite of every moral and sacred consideration, 
to enjoy her society in a situation which might, if the 
chapter of accidents should operate in his favour, deprive 
her of the protection of her relations, and throw her into 
his power. He depended much upon innate corruption, 
and calculated that our natural depravity would alone ad- 
vance his object; for his own heart was too vicious to con- 
ceive that religious sentiments can establish such thorough 
detestation of vice, as to preserve their owner in purity 
and innocence. 

Aunt Fanny, Mary, and Demone, proceeded with all 
due decorum to the play-house. They occupied a small 
private-box near the stage. Tom Woodby followed soon 
after. Mary, surprised at all she saw and heard, was so 
delighted by the pageant and the show, that it succeeded 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


29 


in throwing her mind from off its usual sedateness, and she 
became a perfect child in emotion and curiosity. Aunt Fan- 
ny was equally struck, but she was acted upon by her old 
enemy — imbecile vanity, which at once made her suppose 
that the thousand and one pair of eyes glancing in her di- 
rection from the pit, were solely attracted by her beauty,— 
forgetting all the while that next to her sat one whose 
charms were without compare in the whole house. She 
looked, so she flattered herself, a being made up of delicacy 
and sentiment, and occasionally, in a proper attitude, glan- 
ced “ unutterable things.” 

We will not go through the whole history of the four or 
five hours passed in the play-house ; but merely assert that 
Lord Demone made himself so agreeable to Mary that he 
entirely engrossed her attention, when it was not taken up 
by the play ; whilst Tom, who dodged about in the back 
ground, occasionally communicated his remarks to Aunt 
Fanny in a low, undertoned growl. 

The performance having at length drawn to a close, 
Demone, after duly shawling and cloaking the ladies, drew 
Mary’s hand within his arm, and straightway conducted 
her through the crowd, followed by Tom and Aunt Fanny. 
He pushed on, dragging his companion after him, who, 
unaccustomed to such a scene, half-frightened, half-amused, 
but only anxious to get home, followed him without once 
looking behind. He was well acquainted with all the 
avenues of the theatrs, and, having succeeded in getting 
clear of the crowd, he at length reached the spot where his 
carraige was in waiting. There he came to a halt, as if in 
expectation of Aunt Fanny ; and having paused for a few 
minutes, he at length persuaded' Mary to get in, for fear of 
matching cold : saying, “ Your aunt will no doubt follow 
with Woodby.” He then got into the carriage also, and 
desired the coachman to drive on. 

It was now, for the first time, that poor Mary felt the 
loss of her aunt’s presence ; for, although she did not at 
first imagine any harm could accrue to her, still woman, 
however unpractised in life, feels an impropriety almost in- 
stinctively, particularly when her character may by possi- 
bility be assailed. 

Mary inquired eagerly for her aunt, and when she found 
the carriage was proceeding without her, begged that it 
might be stopped, for that she was determined to wait un- 
3 * 


30 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


til she should appear. Demone, afraid of alarming her, 
acceded to her wishes, until she was appeased — they then 
drove on, but still Mary became more and more uneasy as 
they advanced ; and when she observed the streets, and 
thought that they were not the same through which they 
passed on going to the theatre, she became frightened out- 
right — other circumstances tended to frighten her still 
more : — she now would listen to nothing that Demone 
could say in extenuation ; in great agony of mind, she did 
not cease to look out of the window, and implore to be 
allowed to get out. Demone endeavoured to take advan- 
tage of the confidence which he had so long laboured to 
inspire, but he only increased her alarm. Gazing into the 
street, by the glare of the lamps she perceived a figure 
which she thought was well known to her. Looking at 
it with great earnestness, she at length recognised Mark 
Woodcock, who was walking along with hasty strides, ac- 
companied by a friend. She immediately let down the 
glass, and cried out with her might and strength, “ Mr. 
Mark, save me ! save me !” 

Mark, hearing a well-known voice, started as it struck 
his ear, and immediaiely pursued the carriage, escorted by 
his friend. It drove on at an increased rate, which made 
it difficult for them to keep up with it ; however, they ran 
with their best speed, keeping it in view, determined to 
trace it to the spot where it would stop. To their joy, it 
suddenly came to a stand, owing to a barrier thrown across 
the street, (the place being under repair,) which obliged 
the coachman to turn about. Mary, having lost all hope 
of help, had by this time almost fallen into hysterics, when 
to her utter joy, just as the carriage was slowly backing 
around, the door was opened, and she beheld Mark Wood- 
cock, who, almost exhausted with the race he had run, and 
seconded by his friend, had succeeded in seizing the door 
handle. She threw herself forwards, whilst he received 
her in his arms. Demone would have detained her, and 
was about to jump out and assail her champion ; but when 
he perceived him to be a strong, muscular man, supported 
by one of equal powers, he found it wiser to stifle his rage 
and disappointment, and leaving her to take her own course, 
he ordered his carriage to drive away. 

When Mary felt herself released from her champion, 
and in safety with one who, she was confident, would take 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


31 


care of her, she nearly fainted from that revulsion which 
so often takes place after violent emotion. Mark, who to 
this moment had not been able to discover the reason of 
this call upon his interference, tended her with the greatest 
care and humanity ; and as in truth they were not very far 
from Golden-square, although Demone’s intentions were 
anything but to have driven thither, so they were not long 
in arriving at that place. 

As soon as Mary reached the door of her own house, 
she was so entranced with joy that she could almost have 
kissed her deliverer with gratitude ; whilst he, surprised 
to find himself so suddenly transformed into a hero of 
romance, vowed in his inmost heart that he never would 
lose an opportunity of devoting himself to her service when 
and wherever those services might be required of him. 

Fanny and her conductor, upon arrival, had raised such 
a hue-and-cry at Lord Demone’s conduct in leaving her to 
find her own way home, that Aunt Bab and Abel, who 
half asleep were waiting for their return, were roused into 
the most active state of liveliness. They entered but little 
into Fanny’s feelings with regard to her own ill-usage, but 
called loudly for their neice. “ Where can she he gone ? 
— what can have happened to her?” were exclamations 
which they never ceased to make, until their fears were 
excited to a most alarming degree by seeing Tom Woodby, 
with a mysterious air, shrug up his shoulders, and hearing 
him confess that he would not trust Demone alone with one 
of his sisters, or with any young person he cared for, for 
anything the world could offer. 

“ Why, what do you think he would do to her?” in- 
quired Aunt Bab with the greatest anxiety. 

“I can’t say,” said Tom, too happy to have an oppor- 
tunity of venting his rage at being so entirely outstreached 
in his scheme ; “ but this I will say, that Demone is well 
known for being the most dangerous man, the most' cele- 
brated lady-killer in the United Kingdom, and that he ac- 
tually sticks at nothing.” 

“ A lady-killer !” roared out Bab. “ God bless us ! 
he’s not going to murder the poor girl ! — is he ?” 

“ A lady-killer !” echoed Aunt Fanny. 

“ Here ! give me my hat and stick,” exclaimed Abel : 
44 I’ll go after them : only tell me which way they went, 
and if she is to be found on tire surface of the globe, I’ll 


32 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


find her. Villain ! rascal !” he exclaimed, gnashing his 
teeth with agony, and rushing down stairs with the impe- 
tuosity of a desperate man. 

“ Run after him, Mr. Woodby,” exclaimed Barbara to 
Tom; “for Heaven’s sake let us not lose him too — you 
don’t know how violent he is when he is taken in this 
manner.” 

Tom, followed by Aunts Bab and Fanny, rushed down 
stairs after Abel, who had already seized his stick, put on 
his hat, and was fumbling at the street door to get out, 
when Mark Woodcock’s violent knock from without was 
heard, with Mary as his companion. The door being 
opened, the bewildered maiden soon found herself in the 
arms of her relations, who almost wept with joy at seeing 
her again in safety. 

“ What has happened, my dear Mary ?” inquired Aunt 
Bab, who had preserved her self possession more than any 
of the party. Mary could not answer, so convulsed was 
she with every sort of feeling. “ Do explain to us,” she 
continued, addressing Mark, “ Mr. Woodcock, how did all 
this take place ?” 

“Why, ma’am,” said Mark, “I’m not sufficiently able 
to explain, for I was taken quite unawares ; but as I was 
walking along, I heard the voice of an interesting female 
vociferating after me, upon which I ran with all my speed, 
accompanied by a friend of mine, right after the carriage, 
and, as good luck would have it, it stopped. Upon which 
I opened the door, and there I saw the criminal with Miss 
Mary, he, insisting and she persisting, until she came 
tumbling out right on the top of me. The criminal would 
have assaulted me had I let him ; but seeing my friend and 
I too much for him, he thought fit to sneak off ; so we 
completely did him out of his wicked purposes, and having 
got lawful possession, here she is, as safe and sound as the 
Monument.” 

By this time Mary was sufficiently restored to herself to 
confirm what Mark had stated, and she made her acknow- 
ledgments to her protector in a manner that secured his 
friendship for ever ; whilst all present were loud in ex- 
pressing their indignation against the unprincipled causer 
of this disturbance. 

“ He shall never come into this house again,” exclaimed 
Bab, “ whatever he may say or do !” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


33 


“ If he sticks at nothing,” said Fanny, “ I should like 
to know what he will try to do next ?” 

Abel would have spoken, but he discovered a disaster 
had happened to his mouth, rendering the act of utterance 
unpleasant, and which to his dismay, when he ascertained 
the cause, he found to proceed from the loss of certain false 
teeth he had long cherished, and which had fallen during 
the excitement of the evening and from the violence of his 
vociferations. It became an object of the first importance 
to find them, for upon their existence depended his power 
of blowing the flute ; for it would be impossible to restore 
them without incurring much greater expense than they 
could at present afford. An immediate search was there- 
fore commenced, in which he was assisted by Tom, who, 
now finding that he was likely to have the coast clear, and 
every facility before him of pursuing his villainous scheme, 
sought to ingratiate himself in the family by every act of 
obsequiousness. It was late before the party retired for 
the night, Abel being the greatest sufferer, for he went to 
bed toothless. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The family in their distress apply to a powerful though 
distant cousin. 

The excitement of the preceding night had not subsided 
on the following morning, and the family met together to 
breakfast in no very satisfactory mood. Not one of them 
had passed a quiet night, — each had a grievance to com- 
plain of; but what remained uppermost in their minds was 
Lord Demone’s conduct. 

“I’ll ask Mark Woodcock, the next time I see him,” 
said Aunt Barbara, “ whether it would not be possible to 
take the law of that vile man for such conduct* It stands 


34 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


to reason that no one has a right to seize another by force 
and gallop her half across the city in a coach, without 
asking her, with your leave, or by your leave, and that a 
young girl, too, not eighteen, who is obliged to cry out for 
her life in the middle of the public streets.” 

“ I cannot think so ill of any man,” said Abel, “ to sup- 
pose that designedly, he would inflict such cruelty upon 
those who have never offended him, as to injure one they 
cherish so tenderly as our dear Mary. I dare say,” said 
he to her, at the same time patting her cheek, “ I dare say 
you were more frightened than hurt, if the truth was 
known.” 

“ Indeed he hurt me very much,” said Mary blushing ; 
“I thought he would have torn my gown from off my 
shoulders, when he found that I was determined to go with 
Mr. Mark.” 

“He is an odious wicked man,” said Bab; “I wonder 
Abel, how you can venture to say a word in his favour. 
Such are the vile wretches who, with their smooth tongues, 
do more mischief in the world, than your open murderers.” 

“ We have no right to judge any man,” said Abel. — 
“ Can you say how that very person has been educated — 
what examples he has had before his eyes — to what his 
mind has been directed — what the peculiar nature of his 
constitution — what the force of temptation he has to con- 
tend with ? If you connot answer these questions and a 
thousand others of a similar nature, you ought not to judge 
him. There is only one who is capable of judging him, 
and that is his Maker.” 

“Then you do not allow me to discriminate between 
righf and wrong — to approve of the one, and to censure 
the other?” 

“ That I deny,” said Abel. “ We must abhor vice and 
love virtue ; — and we are to follow God’s commands with 
our undivided strength — and we may censure particular 
actions and laud others, but no one man can entirely judge 
another. As I said before, that is left to his Maker and 
his ultimate Judge.” 

“Well, nobody shall ever persuade me,” said Aunt 
Fanny, “ that Lord Demone is not an odious man ; although 
I will allow that he is a very civil one, and even very 
amusing!” 

“ He shall never come into this house again,” said Bab, 


alel allnutt. 


35 


“ as long as I have a word to say in it — not even if he 
comes to pay for his flute lessons, which I suppose now 
he never will — mean wretch that he is !” 

“ He has injured us very much,” said Abel, “ by insult- 
ing our niece, — but that is an indignity which we must 
bear with patience ; and he is also the cause of me making 
me lose my teeth, another real grievance, for I cannot re- 
place them without incurring an expense which we cannot 
now afford, and thus I am prevented from gainingmy liveli- 
hood.” 

“ Yes,” said Bab, “you must give up your flute, as well 
as your vile scholar; and as we have lost him, so we 
shall lose that foolish shadow of his, Simpleton Sharp, 
who goes about laughing at his jokes, like the little chim- 
ney-sweeper who echoes ‘ sweep’ the moment the big 
chimney-sweeper has said the word.” 

“We must turn our minds to something else, and that 
instantly !” said Abel. 

“ We must, indeed; for I do believe,” said Bab, “ that 
we have only a small sum left at the bankers’, and they 
never allow any one to overdraw.” 

“ I have been thinking,” said Abel, after a long pause, 
“ as I did not see Lord Knutsford, and since nothing has 
been elicited by my first application, that we might apply 
again, and that by letter. Suppose I write to him and 
state our situation ?” 

“A good thought!” exclaimed Bab, suppose you do. 
Much will depend on the sort of letter you write — I will 
help you.” 

“ The simpler the better,” said Abel. “ A plain state- 
ment of facts is always the best mode of appealing to a 
man of sense, which I suppose he is, being a cabinet min- 
ister ; and he will then draw his own inferences.” 

“ We must give him something more than facts,” said 
Bab ; “ we must let him know how we are related to him 
— he must know who our grandfathers and grandmothers 
were, and that will do more for us than plain facts. I am 
sure I could almost cry when I think of our dear old 
grandmother, and I dare say he will too, when he thinks of 
his; we must touch him through the heart.” 

“ Well, I will go and write the letter,” said Abel, “ and 
then you shall see it and make your suggestions ;” upon 
which he retired to his room, and, after some thought, 
wrote as follows : 


36 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“ My Lord , 

“ I venture to state that my necessities impel me to write 
to you. I address myself to you, because you are my 
relation, — a fact which I entreat your lordship to give me 
an opportunity of proving. My two sisters, myself, and 
niece, were living peaceably in the country, when ruin 
overtook us, wholly without our fault ; and we have been 
obliged to come to London, where, unless you protect us 
by giving us some means of gaining our bread, we must 
either die in prison or in a work-house. If your lordship 
would be kind enough to grant me an interview, I would 
more fully explain the nature of our distress ; and in hope 
of a speedy answer, 

“I am, my Lord, 

“ Your obedient servant and cousin, 

“Abel Allnutt.” 

“ Why, that will never do, Abel,” said Aunt Bab ; “ you 
have said nothing about our relationship — nothing about 
our great-grandfathers; if we do not tell him who his 
parents were, how is he ever to know it? — it stands to 
reason that you must tell him. The letter is too short, 
indeed it is ; you ought to give him at least two or three 
sheets full ; these sort of people like attentions, and you 
ought not to write to them as if you was writing to a gro- 
cer. You must appeal to his heart, — it stands to reason 
that you must : tell him what brought us to Golden-square, 
and he will feel for us ; and say a good deal about Mexican 
bonds, and of the abominable conduct of the Woodbys to 
us. You have not informed him who John is, and what 
a distinguished officer he is ; then you must describe 
yourself and your weak state of health, and tell him how 
old we are all getting, and that it is a shame that we should 
be left to starve, and that we have tried literature, and 
tuition, and given lessons on the flute — all that will touch 
his heart ; but we must depend most upon our mutual an- 
cestors — lay great stress upon them. You may be cer- 
tain that blood tells after all.” 

Abel listened with patience to what his sister said, and, 
after passing some time in combating her argument in favour 
of long letters, he was persuaded to introduce a line or two 
into the one he had written explanatory of mutual relation- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


37 


ship, and having done so, he carefully folded it up and 
proceeded himself to deliver it at the very residence of 
Lord Knutsford. This having been accomplished, they 
determined to wait the event with resignation ; but there 
was one circumstance which gave them great cause for 
anxiety, and that was not having heard from Edward 
Manby for some considerable time. He knew the warmth 
of his affection for them all, a feeling which would make 
him punctual in writing to them regularly, and still many 
days were expired, and no letter arrived. Mary, too, had 
partaken of her uncle’s anxiety, although she had not ven- 
tured to express it ; and as those once accustomed to afflic- 
tion are apt to expect a continuation of adversity, so their 
minds did not fail to apprehend more misery in store from 
that quarter. 

When Tom Woodby arrived the morning after to take 
his lesson on the flute, he was not displeased to find that, 
owing to Abel’s loss, he could not continue to teach that 
instrument ; and living under the apprehension that some 
other person might slip in between him and his schemes 
upon Mary, he loudly applauded Abel’s decision. Having 
thus got rid of a rival in Lord Demone, Tom had, how- 
ever, to contend with more formidable difficulties in the 
opposition which his own family made to any further ac- 
quaintance with the Allnutts. His mother, Lady Thom- 
son, and his sisters, had observed the marked attention he 
had paid to Mary at the dinner already described; and 
when they heard that he was a constant visiter at the All- 
nutts’, they became alarmed lest he should throw himself 
away — so they called it — upon one whom they despised, 
and whom they were pleased to look upon as a wretched 
scrub and a penniless pauper. Mrs. Goold Woodby was 
the more awake to such a circumstance, at this particular 
juncture, because she was flushed with prospects of world- 
ly prosperity. It was determined that she and her daugh- 
ters were to go to court to be presented ; it was confident- 
ly whispered about, that the male Woodby was to receive 
the honour of knighthood ; and besides, a baronetcy might 
be in the wind. She had, moreover, succeeded in getting 
a foreign ambassador — so she called him, but in truth the 
charge d'affaires of Hesse Smokanpoff — to dine with her. 
She was promised to be introduced to a secretary of the 
Turkish ambassador, and was in negotiation for a Persian 
Vol. II.— 4 


38 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


prince and the descendent of an Indian nabob. Was it 
probable, therefore, with this brilliant career before her, 
she should ever agree to see her son Tom, the heir of Bel- 
vedere, and perhaps the future baronet, dangling after Mary 
Allnutt, — a girl whom nobody knew, whose uncle was a 
teacher of the German flute, and whose aunts would soon 
be reduced to wielding a mangle or perhaps going about as 
getters-up of small linen ? The ladies in question were 
visited by Demone the morning after his discomfiture by 
Mark Woodcock, — a visit he had intentionally planned in 
order to destroy any unfavourable report that might be 
spread to his disadvantage, and thus overwhelm him with 
ridicule ; and also to give a hint to the family concerning 
the position in which Tom was placed. 

“So my friend Tom, I hear,” said Demone, “is to 
marry the beautiful Mary Allnutt.” 

“ Tom ! marry !” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby. 

“ Mary Allnutt !” roared Lady Thomson. 

“ Ay,” said the other, “ Curius Bentatus, like a second 
Orpheus, has fascinated him with his flute ; Barbarossa 
has wagged her beard and exercises tyranny over him ; 
and la Fanee acts as decoy-duck. They’ll have him as 
sure as fate.” 

“ That they never shall,” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby, her 
face flushed, her hands clenched, and her eyes darting 
fury. “ If Curius ’ tatoes ever again dares to teach Tom 
how to play the flute, I’ll — I’ll — I’ll play the deuce with 
him. Curius ’ tatoes indeed ! with his white ugly face 
and ill-made pantaloons. And as for old Barbara, she shall 
answer to me for that piece of impudence — I that have 
done so much for her. Didn’t I subscribe to her pitiful 
charity-school all to please her, and didn’t I take old Brown 
into our service all to make it agreeable to her ; why should 
I take her leavings ? I won’t be so bamboozled : and now 
she’s going to cheat us out of our Tom. No, no, — that 
she shall not do ; happen what may, I’ll show them up to 
the astonished world ; and if that oaf, old Fanny, comes 
here with her airs and graces, I’ll tell her that none of her 
fine words shall operate any effect here.” 

Lady Thomson, who had been anxious to speak, as 
soon as this effusion was ended burst out as follows : — 
“You are perfectly right — you must not allow Tom to 
domineer over you in this fashion any longer. It is a duty 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


39 


you owe to yourself, to stop all intercourse with the All- 
1111 tts : if they really belong to Lord Knutsford, as they 
pretend to do, then ought of regard to your own character 
and to the aristocracy you ought to be civil to them ; but 
really when it is quite plain that they as much belong to 
his lordship as they do to the king of the Hottentots, and 
that they are nothing but poor miserable wretches who are 
known by nobody, and who can’t even make themselves 
fit to be looked at, why then it is only right, and belonging 
to your station in society, to avoid their acquaintance. 
Did you ever see such a fright as Barbarossa made of her- 
self the other night ? She positively turned that old gray 
gown, as well known all over the country as the parish 
steeple, in order to hide a certain spot upon it as visible as 
an island on a map ; — and then Fanny’s cap was actually 
composed of old shreds, which made her look like a chim- 
ney-sweeper; whilst that well-remembered cherry silk, 
being faded yellow, will soon die of a green old age. As 
for the girl Mary, she was a thing to send into the house- 
keeper’s room to dust the chairs: she looked like the 
housemaid, with her cotton gown and black stuff shoes. 
It was quite odious for all that to see how the men ran 
after her ; and you, Lord Demone,” she continued, ad- 
dressing herself to him, “ were one of the first to lay your- 
self at her feet.” 

“ Ah, my dear lady !” said Demone ; “ wherever there 
is a beautiful face to be gazed at, we don’t look at the 
gown ; — a diamond may be wrapt up in a piece of brown 
paper, but it is still a diamond. Mary Allnutt is surpris- 
ingly beautiful, there is no doubt of that.” 

“After all,” said Anne Woodby, “she is no such great 
things either. Surely her nose is not long enough, — and 
then she has a defect in her mouth ; — besides that, some 
people have said she squints. I know she once began to 
have a hump.” 

“ Ah, that hump has now got into her chest !” said De- 
mone with a satirical smile on his lips, ** for in truth there 
never was seen a finer bust.” 

“ I see you are determined to be the girl’s upholder at 
our expense, my lord,” said Mrs. Woodby, reddening with 
anger. 

“ As for being her upholder,” said he, “you must allow 
me to deny that, for her beauty is so great, that it requires 


40 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


but little furniture to set it off as to expense it is nothing, 
for you have already said that that furniture is cotton.” 

“ I said nothing about furniture,” said Mrs. Woodby, 
unconscious of the drift of his humour ; “ but this I will 
say, that if Tom marries her, then I will insist upon Mr. 
Goold Woodby making short work of it, and cutting him 
off in his will with a shilling.” 

“You are perfectly right,” exclaimed Lady Thomson ; 

“ you have no business to allow the respectability of your ^ 
name to be contaminated by an alliance with a beggar.” 

“ No, nor shall it,” said Mrs. Woodby, “ although that 
beggar should be as handsome as Venus herself.” 

Much more was said on this occasion which does not 
require repeating, and therefore we will proceed to the fol- 
lowing chapter ; but Demone accomplished his object by 
entirely turning the current of attention from himself 
towards Tom, which was all he wanted to achieve. 


CHAPTER V. 

Vicissitudes and mortifications. 

One of the peculiar characteristics of Tom Woodby was 
his perverseness. His very look, with his spherical head 
and round features, was the personification of that hateful 
quality, alas! so strongly stamped upon all the posterity of 
Adam. The opposition of his family to his visiting the 
Allnutts was the only sure mode of making him increase 
his attentions to them. The very next time he appeared 
at home after the visit paid by Lord Demone, his mother, 
Lady Thomson, and his sisters, in a body set upon him 
like so many hornets, and assailed him with every taunt 
and every argument which they could devise to draw him 
off from Mary. They so persecuted his ears with the 
miseries he would endure were he to venture to marry her. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


41 


that from sheer obstinacy he would that moment have rush- 
ed to make a proposal to her, had he not already planned 
in his wicked head the scheme of seduction to which we 
have before alluded. Demone had been instrumental in 
proclaiming- Mary’s beauty among the depraved and the 
licentious; Simpleton Sharp had duly echoed his asser- 
tions; and Tom had done his utmost to make it known 
that he was the accepted favourite. She was described as 
a fresh country beauty, one but little known, and niece to 
a teacher of the German flute; and such had been the de- 
scription given of her matchless charms, that vice had long 
inscribed her in the list of those devoted to ruin. These 
circumstances, more than anything else, had so worked 
upon the ambition and vanity of the vicious Tom, that he 
was determined more than ever, now that he found the field 
open to him after Demone’s discomfiture, to push his ne- 
farious scheme. He therefore became doubly assiduous in 
endeavouring to secure the friendship of Mary’s uncle and 
aunts, who, in the distress that was gradually creeping 
over them, were happy to have any one in the shape of a 
friend to whom they might have recourse. 

Barbara and Fanny both encouraged his addresses to 
Mary, and began to speculate deeply upon the possibility 
of his marrying her. They never indulged the hope that 
he would assist them in pecuniary difficulties, because they 
knew how much Abel was averse to such a proceeding; 
but they argued thus, that once the husband of their niece, 
he would never allow them to sink into utter poverty, but 
would surely give them a helping hand towards gaining 
their livelihood. In the mean while they remained at home 
waiting with impatience the result of Abel’s application to 
Lord Knutsford. 

One morning, just after they had cast up their accounts 
at the bankers, when they found themselves fast approach- 
ing to that appalling result, a balance on the wrong side, — 
an unpretending rap was heard at the door, and presently 
was introduced into the drawing-room a man, who, by his 
appearance, answered to his modest announcement. He 
was a respectable tradesman-like looking personage, with 
quiet manners, unobtrusive in his deportment, but still 
with the air of one intent upon business. From amongst 
a bundle of papers which he drew from his pocket he ex- 
tracted a letter, which he unfolded, and, addressing Abel, 
4 * 


42 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


begged to know whether it had been written by him. Abel 
recognised at once the letter he had addressed to Lord 
Knutsford, and immediately answered in the affirmative. 
Barbara, overjoyed in having at length received a commu- 
nication which she imagined came direct from Lord Knuts- 
ford, drew near and listened to every word which his lord- 
ship’s supposed messenger uttered, with the most respect- 
ful attention. Fanny and Mary also stood by, and perhaps 
no group was ever more worthy of a painter’s pencil. 

He then exhibited a paper containing a printed form of 
questions, which he proceeded to make to Abel, and noted 
down as fast as he was answered. 

He inquired of what place he was a native ; how old he 
was ; how long he had been a resident in Golden-square ; 
what rent he paid ; if he was in any arrears, and the name 
and residence of his landlord. They began to think it 
strange that Lord Knutsford should ask so many questions, 
and that he should hitherto have inquired nothing concern- 
ing their relationship to his family. The visiter then con- 
tinued to inquire whether they were of any trade, to what 
they had been brought up, and what business they had 
recently followed. At these questions, Barbara showed 
symptoms of im patience, — her pride began to take fire ; — 
Fanny’s feelings of gentility were roused, and the two sis- 
ters looked at each other with something like anger. He 
then inquired whether they were single or married. Abel 
answered that they were all single, — Barbara bit her lip, — 
Fanny heaved a sigh. 

“ Then you have no children ?” said the man. 

“None,” answered Abel. 

“ But who is this?” said the visiter, pointing to Mary : 
“ is not she your child ?” 

“She is my niece,” said Abel ; “ and she lives with us.” 

“ Have you any more nieces ? I must see them all : 
and pray let me know whether they have been properly in- 
structed at a national or a Sunday school.” 

Barbara could hold out no longer, but said with some 
asperity of accent, “ But pray, sir, what has all this to do 
with our application to Lord Knutsford, — does he wish to 
know whether nour niece has been educated at a Sunday 
school ?” 

“ I am only fulfilling my instructions,” said the visiter 
mildly : “ will you allow me to proceed ?” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


43 


“ Proceed by all means,” said Abel ; “ we have nothing 
to conceal, — we can only be thankful to whoever will take 
the trouble to inquire into our situation ; and if his lord- 
ship wishes to make these questions, we are ready to 
answer them.” 

The visiter then continued to inquire whether they had 
anything in pawn, its value, — what were the earnings of 
the whole family per week, — whether they had ever re- 
ceived parochial relief, — what was the cause of their dis- 
tress, — and if they could refer to any respectable person 
to speak to their character, and to the truth of their state- 
ment. 

At this last question, Barbara became quite indignant, 
and exclaimed : “ Has Lord Knutsford sent you here to 
insult us ? surely there must be some mistake, — he must 
know that this branch of his family is in existence :” then 
addressing Abel, she said, “ I told you that you were 
wrong in not entering into a full explanation in your letter 
who our great-grandfather was,” Then turning to the man, 
who seemed in no wise astonished at the scope, she ex- 
claimed, “You dare to ask us whether any respectable 
person will speak for our characters ! Go and ask half of 
the nobility of England. The Allnutts have been allied to 
royalty ; they have been married and intermarried with 
dukes, marquises, and earls. If we are poor, the disgrace 
is not with us ; but it is with our family that allows us to 
be so. Go, sir, and tell Lord Knutsford that if he chooses 
to send us a list of insulting questions, he must not be sur- 
prised to receive this answer, which you may give him as 
soon as you please, that he is both unfeeling and imperti- 
nent, and that if he will not relieve our distress, he need 
not add to it by his insolence.” 

“ My dear Barbara,” said Abel, interposing his quiet 
manner to stop her violence; “I dare say if you will allow 
this gentleman to speak, he will explain what appears to 
you difficult. Pray, sir, did Lord Knutsford send you to 
us ?” 

“ Lord Knutsford !” said the visiter. “No, sir, I come 
from the Mendicity Society; I am one of its officers, and 
am sent here on duty.” 

“The Mendicity Society !” exclaimed Bab ; “and pray 
what is that?” 

“It is a society composed of charitable persons,” an- 


44 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


swered the visiter, “ whose object is to inquire into the 
cases of mendicants with a view of relieving their distress, 
and detecting imposture.” 

“And what has Lord Knutsford to do with it?” said 
Bab. 

“ He is one of those charitable persons,” answered the 
other: “ and according to the report I give in reference to 
the letter which you addressed to him, so it is likely that 
he will act.” 

“ Then you are to decide whether he is our relation or 
not?” said Bab, her face assuming a look of indignation. 
“ You will please to tell his lordship that we want no such 
interference ; and that if he requires a whole society to di- 
rect the feelings of his heart, we have nothing more to say 
to him.” 

“ My dear Barbara,” said Abel, “ you are really quite 
in the wrong to take up the matter thus. I dare say Lord 
Knutsford’s intentions are good, and that the Mendicity 
Society, of which this gentleman is the agent, is most use- 
ful and praiseworthy. We certainly had no intention to 
place our concerns before the public, and we did hope that, 
in consequence of our affinity, Lord Knutsford might have 
given us the means of gaining an honest livelihood; but 
since he has judged otherwise, we must submit, not with 
pride and anger, but with humility and proper resignation. 
Sir,” said Abel, addressing the visiter, “ have the goodness 
to inform his lordship that it is not our wish to give him 
any further trouble ; and pray excuse the indifferent recep- 
tion which I am afraid you will complain that you have 
received at our hands.” 

Upon hearing these words, the visiter took his leave, 
making all proper apologies for what he presumed was a 
mistake. A mistake it really was, for Lord Knutsford’s 
secretary, who was accustomed to attend to the numerous 
begging letters addressed to his lordship, had included Abel’s 
with others of a mendicant description, and had in due 
course sent them for examination to the Mendicity Society, 
to which he was a liberal contributor; and thus was pro- 
duced the scene we have just described. 

Had Aunt Bab been less proud, and could Abel have 
crushed those feeling which are inherent in a gentleman 
born, it is probable that the proper explanations made by 
the visiting officer would have directed Lord Knutsford’s 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


45 


notice to their case, and every relief in his power would 
have been bestowed. As it turned out, the whole proceed- 
ing was quashed, and they were left apparently without 
hope, for all their expedients were exhausted.* 

“ What is to be done now?” said Barbara, her recent 
excitement having gone by, and the real truth appearing 
before her mind in all its severity. “ Nothing more is left 
to hope. The rent must be paid to-morrow, and we have 
not enough money to meet the demand.” 

“ We must sell all we have,” said Abel calmly. 

“ I entreat you!” exclaimed Mary with great earnest- 
ness, “ to allow me to seek a place as a governess, as a ser- 
vant, as anything ; whatever I should gain would increase 
your means of living. I am young and strong, and there is 
no doubt that I could secure a sufficiently good recommen- 
dation to be received in the house of honest persons : I 
would work day and night rather than see you continue in 
this painful needy state. Do, my dear uncle,” she said, 
taking Abel’s hand, “ allow me to seek for a situation. I 
am sure, at least, that I could maintain myself, as well as 
add to your means.” 

“It is surprising that we do not* hear from Edward,” 
said Abel in great perturbation. “I wrote to him but the 
other day to inform him to what' straits we are now ap- 
proaching : he is the only real friend now to whom we 
can venture to disclose our situation.” 

“ We have Tom Woodby,” said Fanny in deep despond- 
ency : “ I think we may look upon him as our friend.” 

“ I do not wish to say anything against Tom,” said 
Abel ; “he is very attentive : he comes here constantly ; 
and I dare say if we required a service from him that he 
would be good-natured enough to perform it ; but I do not 
think his principles of conduct are the same as ours : he lives 
entirely for the world ; its pleasures and its vanities appear 
to engross the whole of his thoughts, and he seems to 


* Having been for some time a manager of the Mendicity Society, 
the author cannot refrain availing himselfof this opportunity humbly 
to express his conviction of its vast utility in promoting the ends of 
practical charity ; for whilst it gives security to those who distribute, 
it ensures justice arjd an jippartial investigation of their case to those 
who ask ; and (were it carried to the full extent of which it is capable) 
would afford decided protection against annoyance and imposture to 
the public in general, 


46 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


think they are the sole objects for which he has been sent 
into life. With such a mind, 1 for one have nothing in 
common ; the cheerfulness of youth must always have at- 
traction ; but unless it be allied with the love of virtue, it 
is only attractive as the beauty of a flower is attractive ; 
to look at, and sigh over its brief existence. Tom never 
evinces the smallest taste for anything pure and religious ; 
I rather fear he is a scoffer ; that very doubt tends to es- 
trange us : there can be no approach to mutual confidence ; 
to that free and unrestrained exchange of thoughts and sen- 
timents, without which there can exist no friendship, and 
which is so well established between me and Edward Man- 
by. He, indeed, is a totally different youth, awfully im- 
pressed with the sacred truths of religion : humble in his 
own esteem, although strong in his faith, he has secured to 
himself more of that 4 glorious liberty,’ so difficult of attain- 
ment, than I ever thought it possible for frail corrupt man 
to acquire here on earth. That liberty gives him such 
visible happiness, both of countenance and deportment, 
that it can but arise from the enjoyment of that peace 
which has truly been. said to ‘pass all understanding.’ I 
am quite certain that under all circumstances, in prosperi- 
ty or in adversity ; in sickness or in health ; in the deep- 
est trials of the affections, as under the severest thraldom 
of injustice, Edward would ever be the same; the still 
small voice would ever be heard at the bottom of his heart, 
comforting him. in distress, sustaining him in moments of 
temptation, and giving him the cheering applause of con- 
science when the temptation was overcome. I could talk 
for ever upon the virtues and excellencies of that admirable 
youth. What has become of him I know not ; I fear 
something has happened, or I am certain he would have 
written to us.” 

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and her breast heaved with 
quick and convulsive sighs when she heard the eulogium 
which her uncle passed upon her lover ; her mind respond- 
ed with the tenderest feelings to every word uttered in his 
praise, for she knew that it was true and she would will- 
ingly have poured out her whole heart to her uncle, so 
overflowing was it with a thousand conflicting and stirring 
emotions ; but all she could do at present was to express 
her surprise at Edward’s silence, and to attribute it to any- 
thing but neglect, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


47 


Barbara and Fanny, who had long buoyed themselves up 
with the hope that Tom Woodby would propose for Mary, 
undertook to speak in his favour, and argued, that although 
he never talked upon matters of religion, yet still it was 
unfair to say that he was a scoffer. They contrasted his 
conduct towards them with that of his family, showing 
that they had evidently shunned their acquaintance, whilst 
he had not failed even for one day to call, and really to 
make himself more amiable and attentive to them, than 
Edward himself had ever been. 

Abel finished the conversation by announcing that he 
intended on the following morning to proceed into the 
city to see Mr. Longhead, the banker, in order to learn 
whether something favourable might not have turned up in 
Mexican affairs ; and whether he would be inclined to 
make an advance upon the security* of their bond. Barbara 
shook her head, and asserted that all bankers had hard 
hearts. Fanny was cheered by the reflection that on the 
first interview Mr. Longhead had proved well-bred and 
civil, which she asserted were qualities always portending 
good-nature and liberality. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Temporary relief frequently only paves the way to greater 
mischief. 

Abel took his departure on the following morning, at 
the proper hour, to obtain an interview with his banker, 
whilst Aunts Barbara and Fanny, with Mary, remained at 
home, waiting with apprehension for the appearance of the 
person appointed to receive the rent.* in the same manner 
that one frequently sees women in a play-house, shutting 
their eyes and stopping their ears when a pistol or a gun 
is about to be fired off. They had a thousand, vague ideas 


48 


AfeEL ALLNtfTf* 


of the misfortunes likely to ensue if payment was delayed. 
They had heard of distressing for rent, had seen pictues 
of its horrors, and read heart-rending tales which described 
the ruin and misery of penniless tenants, and the stern in- 
flexibility of ruthless landlords. Aunt Fanny, who had 
heard of an execution in a house, insisted that it could only 
mean something bloody and horrible ; whilst Barbara grave- 
ly asserted that no such act could take place without the 
sanction of a jury, at least, she said it was so in the coun- 
try, although possibly it might be different in town. Not 
being quite certain on what day their half year’s rent was 
due, they fondly hoped it might be deferred, although again 
they agreed that the man might call at any hour. 

Barbara had fully made up her mind, should he appear, 
to lay a true and full statement of their situation before him ; 
to tell him the whole story of Mr. Woodby and the Mexi- 
can bonds ; to describe to him the various excellencies of 
John’s character and his great resource in difficulties ; to 
give him a general view of the Allnutt family, its antiquity, 
its former riches, its affinity to the aristocracy, and its pre- 
sent prospects. She was quite certain, and she asserted 
that it stood to reason, that when a sensible man, which she 
- concluded the collector of the rent would be, had received 
this explanation, that he would acquiesce in his security of 
ultimate payment, and that he would even be too happy to 
keep them on as tenants. She maintained that the educa- 
tion which collectors of rent received rendered them en- 
lightened men, and as their profession brought them into 
contact with great varieties of character, this present per- 
sonage would not fail to discover the integrity of ther minds, 
and the sincerity of their promises. She succeeded at length 
in clothing this imaginy person with qualities so exalted 
and magnanimous, that she finished by driving all the ap- 
prehensions she had previously entertained from before 
her, and placed herself in a position quite equal to meet 
the impending event. Fanny, however, who was prone to 
create beatic visions of men in her brain, on this occasion 
could not raise the collector in question to the pinnacle of 
perfection which we have just described. She could not 
divest him of certain earthly appendages that naturally be- 
long to collectors. She saw before her the snug brown 
wig, the gray stockings, and round-toed shoes, the inkhorn 
in the button-hole, the pen in hand, and the account-book. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


49 


She had never heard of a beautiful collector of rent, and 
moreover had never seen one ; and although she was ready 
enough to admit that he might have a feeling heart, and 
might be touched with a pathetic story, still she avowed 
that she would never go among that class of men for her 
hero of romance. Mary was deep in thought upon her 
Edward, turning in her mind all the various causes which 
might have prevented his writing, and thus the whole dis- 
cussion upon the collector passed by her unheeded. 

She was however brought to her senses by the appear- 
ance of Tom Woodby, who had become more frequent in 
his visits and more urgent in his attempts to engage her 
attention during the last few days than he had ever been 
before. He, in truth, felt how little successful' he had 
hitherto been in forwarding his suit, and consequently had 
turned over in his wicked mind every possible scheme in 
its advancement. He felt secure of the aunts’, and hoped 
that the uncle’s approbation would follow ; but he was 
awed before the uncompromising dignity and strength of 
virtue of the lovely young maiden herself. Goaded on by 
the ridicule of some of his associates, who taunted him for 
want of success after his vain boasting, he at one time 
thought of carrying her off by force ; but then, dastard as 
he was, he became alarmed at the consequences, and dreamt 
of a gibbet and the hulks. He then began to consider upon 
the expediency of proposing marriage, hut was stopped short 
by the announcement made to him by his parents, that if 
such an event took place he was from that moment disin- 
herited. He became quite bewildered, and occasionally 
thought of abandoning the pursuit, but still he clung to the 
chapter of accidents which he hoped might turn over a for- 
tunate leaf in his favour. He was aware of the family dis- 
tress ; he reckoned that his money and their ruin might 
promote his views, and therefore at length determined to 
keep himself in love more intensely than ever, until he saw 
that ruin complete. The moment was now not far distant 
when his villainy would receive every encouragement he 
could desire. 

He had not been long arrived, and was more than ever 
welcomed with cordiality and even adulation by Barbara 
and Fanny, when a knock was heard at the door, and 
shortly after old Betty came bustling up to say there was 
a gentleman below who had called for six months’ rent of 
Vol. II. — 5 


50 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the lodging. This produced a visible sensation upon all 
present. Barbara, notwithstanding her previous views 
upon collectors, was full of nervous apprehension ; Fanny 
said, “What can he mean by coming to-day ?” Mary 
was calm, but pale ; Tom looked like Mephistophiles, the 
smile of a demon on his lips, with the quick eye of tri- 
umph glancing under his brow. 

“ What sort of a looking man is he ?” said Barbara. 

“ Indeed, ma’am,” said Betty, “he is a very nice-look- 
ing young man.” 

“ Young man!” exclaimed Fanny ; “ that is odd !” 

“What did he say ?” said Aunt Bab with emphasis. 

“ Oh, he only said that he came for rent ; quite genteel 
like,” said Betty. 

“ Did he look positive and determined,” said Bab, “ or 
did he appear lenient ?” 

“ Why, he did lean again the wall, and that ’s the truth 
of it,” said old Betty : “ he seemed quite positive about 
that.” 

“ Let us go and look at him first,” said Fanny ; upon 
which she gently slid out of the door, and bending her 
head over the staircase, took an accurate survey of the 
man. She returned with a face quite beaming with satis- 
faction. “ He really is a very nice-looking young man” 
said the old beauty. “ He does not look a bit like a col- 
lector; he puts me in mind of Edward Manby ; he has 
his height, his hair is nicely combed ; he grows the pret- 
test little beard ; his coat is black ; he wears gray kid- 
gloves, and is resting gracefully, and apparently patiently, 
with his back against the wall, with his hat in his hand. 
He has neither inkstand at his button nor pen behind his 
ear ; indeed, now I think of it, a flower is in his button- 
hole, and indeed he is a very nice young man.” 

“ I ’ll go and speak to him,” said Barbara ; “ or let us 
have him up here.” 

“ Do,” said Fanny ; “lam sure Mr. Woodby will ex- 
cuse it.” 

“ By all means,” said Tom, looking full of exultation; 
“ these sort of men are sometimes pleased to call them- 
selves gentlemen.” 

As soon as the young man appeared, (and Fanny had 
been true to a hair in her description,) Aunt Bab greeted 
him with more than usual politeness, asked him to be seat- 


ABEL ALLNETT. 


51 


fcd, and introduced him right and left as if he had been a 
dignitar) T of no small consequence. She then began gra- 
dually to weave the thread of that history, which the gen- 
tleman in question (who was an attorney’s clerk) soon 
perceived would end in an avowal of inability to pa}'. 
He heard her story throughout with exemplary patience, 
and, in truth, she neither spared him or herself, for she 
gave him so complete an account of their birth, parentage, 
and education — of their life, present and past — of their 
hopes, fears, and future projects, that, had he so pleased, 
he might instantly have published the history of the All- 
nutt family from the best and latest authority. 

When it had drawn to a close, and when she had avowed 
their present difficulties, the young man with a grave face 
said, “I am afraid, ma’am, this will be an awkward busi- 
ness he then in a few words informed her that any 
compromise for non-payment of rent was out of the ques- 
tion, and that before the day was over she would find how 
fatal would be the consequences of any defalcation, and 
hinted that the distress would immediately be issued. 

“ But I promise you,” said Barbara, “ that you will be 
paid the very first moment we receive our dividends from 
the Mexican bonds, and I am sure I can’t say more. After 
all, sir, there is such a place as Mexico, and the whole 
nation is as responsible to us as we are to you.” 

The young man appeared not in the least touched, but 
on the contrary smiled. 

“ But you surely would not be cruel enough,” said 
Barbara, “ to turn an honest family into the street, who 
have been brought into difficulty by no fault of theirs.” 

The young man shrugged up his shoulders and said, 
“ The law must have its course.” 

Barbara now looked serious and distressed, and whilst 
her loquacity lapsed into silence, her former elation turned 
into dejeetion. 

Fanny was the picture of wo, and cast up her eyes be- 
seechingly to Tom, who began to feel that the moment of 
his success was approaching. She then tried her eloquence 
upon her 4 nice young man,’ who had gradually expanded 
in her mind into a fiend, a giant of strength, a tyrant, an 
odious hard-hearted individual. 

“ Sir,” she said, “ it is really shocking that you should 
remain so unshaken when so many interesting persons are 


52 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


entreating your forbearance. You are told the money will 
not fail to be paid, and still you do not appear to believe 
us, allow me to say, that it would show better breeding if 
you did.” 

“You know the alternative, madam,” said the “nice 
youth ;” “ either immediate payment or the consequences. 
Am I to return to my employer and to tell him that you 
can’t pay?” 

“ Sir,” said Tom, with a most magnanimous swagger, 
and glancing his eye at Mary, who was seated in a corner 
absorbed in grief, — “ Sir, you are not called upon to be in- 
solent, although you may be peremptory. As long as I 
am here, these ladies shall never want a protector nor a 
banker.” Then taking Aunt Bab on one side towards the 
spot where Mary was seated, he said with as much feeling 
as he could throw into his unsentimental features, “ Dear 
Miss Allnutt, do pray allow me to settle this business for 
you. I see you will be involved in immediate ruin, and 
most perplexing difficulties, should you permit this fellow 
to leave the house without paying his demand ; and I hope 
that you will place sufficient confidence in my friendship” 
he sighed and looked at Mary “ to receive from me the 
supply which I am sure time will enable you to repay. I 
have a hundred younds now at your entire disposal — pray 
allow me to pay the fellow, whilst the remainder may con- 
tinue in your hands, the whole to be repaid at your utmost 
leisure.” 

Barbara’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude at this ge- 
nerous proposal, for so she esteemed it. She hesitated to 
accept it, particularly when Mary ventured to say, “ Had 
you not better wait until uncle Abel’s return but Fanny 
coming to her aid, with an enthusiastic expression of her 
thanks, she could no longer resist the offer, and accepted 
it without further delay. 

“ Here, sir,” said Tom to the young man, “here is a 
check for your demand ; give me a receipt as paid on ac- 
count of Mr. Allnutt, and behave yourself less insolently 
for the future.” 

“I’ll give you the receipt with pleasure,” said the at- 
torney’s clerk ; “ and I tell you what I ’ll give you also,” 
he added, lowering his voice ; “ I will give you as sound a 
horse-whipping as you ever had in your life, if you allow 
yourself any more impertinent airs.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


53 


As soon as Woodby heard this energetie sentence, the 
blood rushed into his face and as rapidly retreated, leaving 
it as white as the paper of the receipt which his spirited 
opponent put into his hand. “ Sir, you had better mind 
what you are at,” said Tom, trembling from head to foot; 
“ you do not know whom you are talking to.” 

“ I am not ambitious of that honour,” said the clerk 
with a sneer ; but should you require to be informed who 
/ am, which is more to the purpose, here is my card, and 
you know the rest.” Upon which, putting the money into 
his pocket, he took up his hat, made his bow, and walked 
out of the house. 

“ Did you ever see the like of that ?” said Tom as soon 
as he heard his last step : “ a low blackguard giving him- 
self these airs !” This is the worst feature of the times I 
have yet seen ! I am all for equality ; but really when a 
pitiful attorney’s clerk thrusts his card — his card to be sure ! 
— into your face because he is told to do his duty, I think 
it is time for us of the aristocracy to assert our rights too. 
I never saw this sort of thing before ! I wish I had kicked 
him out of the house ; and I will, too, the next time !” 

“ I wish you had, I am sure,” said Aunt Fanny, “ al- 
though he is quite as tall as Edward Manby. Now, did I 
not say right?” she said, turning towards Mary. “ Is he 
not like Edward Manby ? — he has his quick decided man- 
ner : but really it was too insolent to treat Mr. Woodby in 
this manner, when he must have perceived how kind and 
considerate he was, and when he ought to have thanked 
him, not us, for his odious rent. It is a pity he is so vio- 
lent, for he is handsome enough for anything.” 

Tom pulled up his cravat, looked full of importance and 
assumed an air of protection and patronage which was not 
thrown away upon Mary, but which the good aunts esteem- 
ed as a mark of an increase of friendship and interest. He 
continued his visit longer than usual, in order to conciliate 
Mary, who, out of feeling for her aunts, thought it right to 
express her sense of gratitude for what he had done : he 
then left the house elated beyond measure at the success 
which had attended him thus far, although it had been so 
unseasonably checked by the attorney’s oierk’s spirit and 
determination.. 

5 * 


54 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Rather incur every misery , than lie under obligations to 
a villain . 

Abel returned from his visit to the banker, jaded with 
the walk, but with the same calm and unruffled temper of 
mind in which he had set off. He informed his sisters that 
political affairs looked worse than ever in Mexico. He 
had been well received by the banker, who, as on the 
former occasion, caused newspapers to be read to him, and 
confirmed to him by word of mouth the fact, that the un- 
settled state of the country, in which every man’s hand 
appeared to be against his neighbour, so entirely influenced 
the money-market in England, that Mexican bonds were 
actually worth nothing, and that no man could raise five 
pounds sterling for one thousand pounds of its paper secu- 
rities. Abel avowed that in consequence of the exposition 
thus made to him, he could not venture to solicit the bank- 
er for an advance of money upon things so utterly value- 
less as their bonds ; and after mutual compliments, they se- 
parated, he was sorry to say, with as little hope of relief 
as ever. 

Barbara during this recital was evidently bursting with 
impatience to inform Abel of what had occurred in his ab- 
sence ; and when he deplored his ill success, to his surprise 
he saw her smile and shake her head. “My dear Abel!” 
she exclaimed, “lay aside your apprehensions for the pre- 
sent! We have found a friend — such a friend! It was 
by the merest accident he was present when the man came 
for the rent; and, would you believe it ! seeing our distress, 
he insisted upon discharging it himself, leaving it, as he said, 
to our utmost leisure to repay him. And, moreover, he 
left us a good sum over, to go on with till times should 
mend.” 

“ Is it so, indeed ?” said Abel, looking serious and full 
of reflection ; “ and who is our friend ?” 

“Who!” said Bab; “who but Tom Woodby, to be 
sure ! he is a friend indeed, for I am sure he is one in need. 
You ought to have seen how well he managed with the 
man, who talked of issuing distress and every sort of odi- 
ous contrivance to make us pay ! Tom paid him outright, 
and obliged him to give a receipt. I thought they would 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


55 


have fought on the spot ! But the long and the short of it 
is, that we are now free for the next six months. ” 

“ So, then, we are in debt !” exclaimed Abel, with a 
deep-drawn sigh, but suppressed by an inward impulse of 
resignation. 

“ You really cannot call yourself in debt to such a friend 
as Tom Woodby !” said Aunt Bab. “ He comes in and 
goes out as if this house were his own. Besides, who 
knows what may happen ! I am sure he does not come 
hunting after old women like Fanny and me : and you 
know there is only one young one among us — I need not 
say more.” 

Fanny felt as great a shock as if she had stumbled over 
a sharp-edged footstool, at hearing this open avowal of old 
age, and said, with some ill-humour, “ There is such a 
thing as a middle age, Bab ; and that, you know, does not 
come on till youth has completely expired. Don’t let us 
make ourselves older than we are ! Tom Woodby cer- 
tainly is very attentive to all of us : if Mary would only 
take example from me, and receive him as he ought to be 
received, l make no doubt what would be the result.” 

“ I am sure that 1 shall ever be happy to do everything 
in my power to please you in all things,” said Mary ; but 
I must not allow you to believe that I ever can approve of 
Mr. Woodby, or that I ever will give him any encourage- 
ment. I do not like him ; his manners and conversation 
are offensive ; and I do not think that you would wish 
your niece to act so dishonouruble a part as to encourage 
his addresses with the view of securing his wealth.” 

Mary had never spoken in so decisive a tone before, and 
her aunts were astonished. Barbara looked at her for a 
while, and said, “ My dear Mary, I quite enter into your 
feelings ; but still you must allow the experience of age to 
plead against the romance of youth. There are thousands 
of marriages which turn out very well without the prelimi- 
nary of the passion called love : indeed, where they take 
place upon that foundation only, they are constantly found 
to be productive of much misery, and to be followed by a 
feeling very much the opposite of that bewitching illusion. 

In the case before us, both 5 r our aunt Fanny and, I believe 
I may add, your uncle Abel, as well as myself, are of opi- 
nion that if you were to marry Tom Woodby, you would 
have a fair prospect of happiness before you. Your good 
sense would soon wean him from his extravagant love of 


56 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the world. His recent generosity, quite spontaneous on 
his part, shows that he possesses many good qualities ; and 
those little ebullitions of temper which frequently break 
out, (and who is ever free from them !) would soon be soft- 
ened when brought into contact with your never-failing 
sweetness of disposition. His wealth would save you from 
the miseries to which you see us now exposed, and at the 
same time place us beyond that want which threatens to 
involve us in the extreme of misery. Indeed, my dear, 
you must think better of him than you do, and keep ro- 
mance out of your head — I’m sure I’m right.’’ 

“ I am quite of your opinion,” said Fanny. “ If that 
Captain Rawbone, who had once the audacity to propose 
to me, had only had a fortune, I do not think I should have 
been justified in refusing him, although my repugnance to 
his red whiskers and freckled skin was just as great as 
Mary’s can be to Tom’s little ugly figure and ridiculous 
aii*s and graces.” 

“ For my part,” said Abel, “ I must say, however much 
I should wish to see our dear Mary well settled in life, still 
I should oppose myself to anything which would force her 
inclinations, or induce her to marry a man she cannot es- 
teem. There is only one man I have yet known who I 
think at all worthy of her : but, however, that is impossi- 
ble ; it is past praying for. All things are ordiained for the 
best !” 

Mary blushed to the eyes, when she heard her uncle’s 
words, which were spoken more as if he were thinking 
aloud, than addressed to any particular person. 

Fanny exclaimed, “ Who can that be, Abel?” 

Bab said, “ I know whom you mean ; but that can never 
be. Would that John were here, and he would set every- 
thing to rights !” 

They continued to talk thus ; to speculate upon futurity, 
to turn over in discussion various schemes for gaining their 
bread, during which they wondered they had not seen Mark 
Woodcoek for along time past; when, as if to confirm the 
well-known proverb, who should make his appearance but 
the aforesaid Mark himself ! 

He was received with the greatest cordiality and joy, 
which, however, were soon turned into sorrow, when they 
heard the object of his visit. He informed them that he 
was about to undertake a very long journey, and that he 
should be absent at least four months. It appeared that in 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


57 


consequence of the death of Mr. Oldbourn, one of Mr. Fair- 
fax’s clients, it became expedient to recall the brother of 
that client from Asia, where he was travelling ; for accord- 
ing to the tenor of the will, it was necessary that he should 
fulfil certain provisions within a limited period. Mark an- 
nounced that he had been appointed to proceed in search 
of this gentleman. “ You see,” said he, “ as I am a dab 
at French, Mr. Fairfax has selected me to perform this out- 
of-the-way concern. It will be rum work, I dare say, for 
everybody says that foreigners are queer chaps.” 

Many were the expressions of regret upon hearing this 
piece of intelligence ; for to lose a friend, when distress is 
at hand, is very much like breaking a link of the drag-chain 
when going down hill. Mark hoped to soften the sorrow 
expressed at his departure by assuring them that he would 
not fail to bring back something curious for each. He pro- 
mised Barbara some Turkey-figs, and hoped too, that he 
might be able to get her some Turkey-cocks, although he 
doubted whether the native country, as he called it, of 
those birds, could ever produce any like those which came 
from Norfolk. 

“ But pray tell us, Mr. Mark,” said Fanny, who was 
always alive to a piece of gossip, “ who is this Mr. Old- 
bourn you are going to seek ? I don’t think I have heard 
that name before.” 

Mark was a good man of business although he did not 
study the graces of language, and was ever cautious in 
speaking upon subjects referring to matters of his vocation ; 
he was therefore slow to answer the question put to him. 
“ I do not exactly know,” said Mark, “but this I can say, 
that he is in some manner or other related to a young gen- 
tleman I used to see here when first you came to Golden- 
spuare.” 

“ Who? Edward Manby !” exclaimed Fanny. 

This exclamation awakened the curiosity of all present. 
Abel drew near with his ears open and with inquiry in his 
looks ; Mary’s bosom heaved with unusual agitation ; and 
Aunt Bab followed up her sister’3 exclamation: by many 
others of a similar import. “ I always thought that youth 
must belong to somebody,” she added, “he has such an 
air of good breeding about him.” 

“ Do tell me,” said Abel to Mark, “ have you heard any- 
thing concerning Edward Manby lately ? We have been 
expecting news from him with the utmost impatience, for 


58 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


a letter has long been due, and it appears to us the very 
strangest circumstance in the world that he should have 
left us so long ignorant of his proceedings.” 

Mark pleaded total ignorance of his present abode and 
of his pursuits, and said that he only guessed from certain 
circumstances which he was not at liberty to repeat, that 
Manby was in some measure connected with the object of 
his intended mission. 

Mary’s imagination was excited in the highest degree 
by what Mark divulged. She turned over in her mind 
every conversation she had had with Edward ; he was 
never prone to speak of himself, and therefore she was but 
little acquainted with his private history. Aunt Bab had 
doubts relative to the purity of his birth, and his own si* 
lence upon the subject confirmed those doubts. Mary re- 
collected Oldbourn as a name which he had once pro- 
nounced, and imagined it to be the maiden name of his 
mother; but her imperfect memory just served to render 
her ignorance distressing. She would have given the 
world to know more, for then she might perhaps have 
come to some certain conclusion as to what might have 
happened to him. 

Aunt Fanny returned with vigour to the charge, with 
the intention of sapping Mark’s integrity ; but he resisted, 
at once declaring that in his situation he was ever pre- 
cluded from telling tales out of school, and added, that 
even now he felt that he had transgressed. He said that 
one of the first rules which Mr. Fairfax impressed upon 
those employed in his office was undeviating secrecy. 

“ But you are going away in a few days, said Fanny : 
“ what can it signify what you tell us ?” 

“ That’s a good one !” said Mark. “ If I let the cat 
out of the bag in England, it’s in England that she will do 
the misehief, although I may be among the Turks and out 
of the quandary. No, no, Miss Fanny! ‘mum’ is the 
motto of an attorney’s clerk.” 

“You are very provoking,” said Fanny; “I thought 
that smart young gentlemen like you never refused a lady 
anything.” 

This compliment awoke all Mark’s vanity, (for he had 
considerable prepossessions in favour of his own gentility,) 
and he was beginning to get himself into an attitude to 
make a concession, when Able interposed and said, “Fan- 
ny, you are not fair upon Mr. Mark ; you have no right 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


59 


to seduce him from his duties — duties to the sense of which 
he has appealed, and which he has manfully defended.” 
And then turning to the youth, he said, “Although we would 
willingly learn all that can be said concerning Edward Man- 
b^, in whose fate and history we are as much concerned as 
if he were our own brother, still we will never do it by 
obtaining the sacrifice of your integrity.” Then assuming 
a gayer tone, he added : — “ If you are determined to be 
4 mum,’ we will not press you further, but will heartily 
and sincerely wish you a prosperous journey and a safe 
and speedy return. Give us your promise that when you 
return you will immediately come and see us.” He then 
added with a deep-drawn sigh, 44 God only knows where 
we may then be ! but wherever we are, we shall be glad 
to see you.” 

Mark then took his leave, and particularly noticed Mary 
in his last farewell. He shook her warmly by the hand, as- 
sured her that he would never forget her, and that he would 
do his best to bring her back something pleasing and ac- 
ceptable. He then left the house, and they saw him no 
more. 

When he was gone, they gave full scope to their cu- 
riosity upon the theme which Mark had set them — namely, 
who Edward Manby could be, and how he was connected 
with the name of Oldbourn ? They referred to the story 
which Mr. Goold Woodby had formerly related, that he 
was the son of an officer, who, together with his wife, had 
died in the West Indies, and that his mother having made 
an ill-assorted marriage, was discarded by her relations. 
Putting this together with other circumstances, they con- 
cluded his mother’s name was Oldbourn, and that a death 
having ensued according to Mark’s report, Edward might 
have become a person of importance. 

Abel determined to write to Edward’s uncle at Liver- 
pool to inquire what had become of him ; and upon this 
they allowed the matter to rest for the present. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The base man will insult the poor man in his adversity , 
which he would not venture to do in his prosperity. 

Ever since Tom Woodby ’s display of generosity he as- 
sumed a new manner towards the Allnutts, affected great 


60 


ABEL ALLNUTT, 


intimacy, made himself as much at home as if he were one 
of the family, and did not cease to persecute Mary with 
his attentions. This would have been, perhaps, an earnest 
of the sincerity of his friendship, but that it was accom- 
panied by airs of protection so vulgar and so presuming, 
that it was evident he required something beyond mere ex- 
pressions of gratitude for the benefit he had conferred. 
He now never lost an opportunity of expressing his admi- 
ration of Mary whenever he conversed with her aunts ; 
who, on their side, thinking that every time he opened his 
lips on the subject his proposal of marriage was about to 
be made, were always sure to encourage his professions. 
He roundly asserted that in his opinion, when comparing 
her to other beautiful persons of his acquaintance, she was 
the most perfect of her sex, and that she was born to en- 
slave mankind. In the composition of these burst of eu- 
logy he would place himself in an attitude of such complete 
satisfaction, that it was difficult to decide whether he w'as 
more in love with Mary or himself. He would frequently 
complain of her cruelty ; and then endeavour to throw an 
infusion of sentimentality into his repugnant features, which 
made his round /ace look like one of those monsters that often 
terminate the angle of a Gothic ornament. Such attempts 
to produce effect were not lost upon the aunts, who after 
each succeeding effort always expected the matter-of-fact 
result. They became at last quite tired of so many abor- 
tive strains, and Aunt Bab at length determined to hasten 
the event by management. 

Being left alone with Bab, Tom had been descanting 
largely upon his carriages, his horses, his beautiful lodgings, 
and his intentions, whenever he became settled, to adopt 
the taste of the charming person whom he hoped one day 
to call his own, and to allow himself no wish but hers ; 
when Aunt Bab said, “ But who is this charming person ? 
You every day increase our curiosity and impatience to 
learn.” 

“Ah!” said Tom with affected feeling, “I dare scarcely 
trust my imagination with the hopes which thrill through 
my breast. I would make you my confidant, but I des- 
pair even of your friendship.” 

Bab was softened into a mood quite unusual to her, and 
said, “ I am very willing to be your confidant on this oc- 
casion. You could not have fixed upon one more likely to 
help you, if I am not mistaken in the person I have long 
thought the object of your affections.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


61 


“Will you indeed be my confident?” said Tom, his 
little person beaming with unusual animation ; “ and have 
you then indeed guessed? Well, you are right; I am in 
a state bordering upon delirium — so much do I wish to 
jnake myself agreeable to your divine niece !” 

“ Oh then, at length the murder is out !” said Bab, 
clapping her hands with joy ; “ this is just what we have 
expected : poor Mary has never been prepared for this, 
and we must cautiously break it to her.” 

“ You promise then to use your best endeavours,” said 
Tom, “ to make her favourable to my hopes ?” 

“ Yes, truly,” said Bab ; “ and so shall Fanny too. My 
brother is scrupulous in influencing her mind on a subject 
of such vast importance to her future happiness ; but when 
he reflects upon the solid advantages which will accrue to 
us all, he too, I am sure, will persuade her to acquiesce in 
our united wishes.” 

Tom did not quite relish the turn which Bab’s observa- 
tions were taking ; but being well satisfied to have gained 
what he called an important step, and trusting to the power- 
ful agency of the pecuniary obligation to which he had 
subjected the family, he trusted that little by little he 
might attain that nefarious object for which alone he 
strove. 

He was no sooner gone, than Barbara, big with the 
news, ran to seek Fanny and Abel, to whom she disclosed 
all the circumstances of the interview and its result. She 
could scarcely contain herself for joy, for she looked upon 
all their difficulties as vanished. Mary, she argued, mar- 
ried to a rich man, would become a rich woman. A very 
little help would suffice to maintain herself, her sister, and 
Abel, until John arrived, or until their affairs had come 
round, and then they would again be independent. Tom 
might have his faults, but Mary would not fail to correct 
them ; and she would not only become the favourite, but the 
principal ornament of the whole Woodby family. In short, 
the advantages were incalculable, and it behoved them to 
lose no time in influencing Mary to favour the proposal by 
every means in their power. Fanny partook in the fullest 
degree of her sister’s joy, but Abel was not so much over- 
come as they both could have wished. He paused and 
shook his head ere he spoke, for he adhered to the opinion 
he had expressed of Tom’s character, and was unwilling, 
however advantageous it might be, to sacrifice Mary to one 
Vol. II. — 6 


62 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


he could not esteem. They were discussing the question, 
when Betty brought in a letter and delivered it to Abel, to 
whom it was addressed. It was an ill-folded, ugly-looking 
letter, one that might come from some illiterate person, and 
the spelling of the direction corresponded to the fashion of 
the folding. Having opened it, he read as follows : — 

“ Maister Abel. — Sir, I ask your pardon for taking 
this liberty. It is a sure friend without a name who writes 
this ; because I heard in the stable-yard that the young 
’squire, Maister Thomas, thinks no more of making that 
pure angel, Miss Mary, an honest woman than he thinks 
of eating her, and only because he is a sinful wretch he 
intends to make her no better than she should be ; and I 
say this because I heard that young villain Sam Hicks, 
him they call the tiger, lay a bet that before another month 
was over she would be within his clutches. With which 
I am yours to command, A Friend.” 

“What can this mean?” said Abel, turning over the 
letter on all sides. “ Whom can this be from ?” 

“ I should not be surprised if it were from honest Brown,” 
said Bab after some thought. “ What could he be think- 
ing of ? Mary not an honest woman, and Tom Woodby 
does not intend to marry her ! The man must be mad !” 

“ I can’t think so ill of Tom,” said Fanny : “ yet all 
men are deceitful creatures ; and he is old enough to be as 
wicked as the best of them. But it can’t be true.” 

“ If it be Brown who has written this letter,” said Abel, 
“ we must not despise the information, although it comes 
from so humble a source. If it be not, still we must give 
it our whole attention, for Mary’s happiness is of too much 
consequence to be neglected : we must sift this matter to 
the bottom.” 

“My dear Abel,” said Barbara, “the thing is too ridi- 
culous that we should believe it for a moment : this letter 
must be a hoax. Why you might as well say that Tom 
Woodby would deceive me, as Mary ! Are we not all here 
with our eyes open, watching everything he says and 
does, like so many cats watching a mouse ; and does it 
stand to reason that he is to reduce her to shame, whilst 
we are looking on ?” 

“ It will be easy to ask him what are his real intentions,” 
said Abel ; “ and that before we speak to Mary.” 

“ Nothing more easy,” said Bab ; “ and I will do it 
myself the very first time he comes : he will be here pre- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


63 


sently, and then he shall state what settlements he intends 
to make, with all the requisite particulars. Leave it to 
me ; I will manage it nicely, and draw him on to explain 
everything.” 

Having excluded Mary from the conference, as soon as 
Tom appeared, Aunt Bab (Fanny and Abel being present,) 
received him with increased attention and confidence. She 
endeavoured to make him feel that they now considered 
him as one of the family, and tendered to him those nu- 
merous little marks of affection which belong only to rela- 
tions. But Tom returned with far different views; for 
during this short absence, he was visited by repentance for 
having taken, as he thought, a too hasty step, and he ap- 
peared with the intention of retrieving it. lie was there- 
fore much mortified to find the family drawn up, as it were, 
in array to receive him, and he instantly threw his mind 
into an attitude of defence. 

After some preliminary talk, Barbara, clearing her voice, 
said to him, “ I have mentioned your joyful proposal to 
my brother and sister, and they are here to tell you how 
happy we shall all be to adopt you as our nephew. In 
consenting to bestow our niece upon you, we think that we 
fully counterbalance any worldly advantages she may ob- 
tain, by the inestimable worth of the character which she 
will bring as her portion, for none other has she.” 

“ Yes,” said Abel, “ should she consent, you will obtain 
a prize indeed!” 

“You will be called the happiest of the happy,” said 
Fanny; “and when the banns of Thomas Woodby and 
Mary Allnutt are published, as I trust they will be next 
Sunday, young men will call you fortunate, and parents 
will listen with envy.” 

During fhese speeches Tom looked confused, and scarcely 
knew what face to put upon it. At one time he thought of 
skulking out of the room, running away and never return- 
ing; but at another, when he reflected upon the vantage 
ground he had gained, and how entirely the existence of 
the family was subject to him, he determined to brave the 
storm, and to avow his inability to marry. 

“I am afraid there has been some mistake. I did not 
quite say that I intended to marry now,” said Tom. 

“ Not marry!” loudly exclaimed Bab; “ What then?” 

He hummed and stammered with various expletives on 
his lips, whilst the three looked at him with uplifted eyes. 
At length he said, “ You know I am not my own master 


64 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


— my father and mother are opposed to me — I should be 
very happy hereafter; but now I fear there are a hundred 
difficulties.” 

“ Then what we have heard is true !” said Abel. 

“ Are we to believe that you will marry her hereafter?” 
said Fanny. “ But if so, what will you do in the mean 
time ?” 

Tom was awed into respect, and the wicked proposals 
which he would have made stuck in his throat: he threw 
as much humility as he could into his features, and then, 
with much hesitation, said, “ If Miss Mary would conde- 
scend to wait — to temporize — matters might be arranged — 
my father may be conciliated-wny mother may come 
round. I am in an awkward situation — it is impossible for 
me to do ail that I could wish.” 

“What!” said Bab, almost convulsed with anger, the 
truth of the anonymous letter flashing on her mind, — 
“What, sir! do you dare think us despicable enough to 
listen to anything dishonourable ? Who do you take 'us 
for?” 

“ What !” reiterated Fanny, hiding her face with shame ; 
“ do you dare insult us, saying at one time that you will 
marry our niece, and then that you will not — you a Wdo&- 
by, and we Allnutts !” 

Barbara then continued — “ Are you villain enough, sir, 
in cold blood to insult a respectable family in this manner? 
Begone, sir! never put your foot within these doors again. 
We have had intimations of your baseness, but never did 
we conceive that it would be confirmed by your own 
avowal. You are an odious, wicked young man, Thomas 
Woodby : you’ll never come to any good — begone!” 

“ You really mistake me,” said Tom, writhing with con- 
fusion at having been found out, “ What have I done to be 
treated thus?” 

“ What have you done, sir?” said Bab: “ can you ask 
such a question ? We have been warned against you, and 
now we find the warning true. Speak out at once, if your 
intentions are honourable, and destroy our suspicions. Do 
you propose to marry our niece or not ?” 

“I am not to be bamboozled into a marriage with any 
one,” said Tom, taking up a tone of insolence ; “ and I 
do not see why I am to be forced to marry your niece 
whether I will or not.” 

Barbara turned pale with indignation, whilst Fanny could 
not utter from sorrow and mortification. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


65 


Abel during this scene had not said a word, but his whole 
nature was convulsed — the strongest temptation to anger 
and violence circled through his veins, and he became pal- 
lid with wrath and indignation — his features assumed a cast 
of desperate determination ; but there was within, one small 
monitor at the bottom of the heart (and happy are they 
who cherish it) constantly rising and becoming more and 
more vociferous to be heard, until at length it interposed 
so effectually between his Christian principle and his vio- 
lence, that he was enabled to collect his mind into the 
strength of forbearance, and to resign himself to meet this 
bitter trial with fortitude. 

“ Sir,” said he to Woodby, “be thankful that you have 
not to deal with some violent and resentful man of the 
world, for he would not allow you to quit this house with- 
out making your blood answer for this injurious treatment. 
Be thankful that I am sufficiently master of myself to meet 
such conduct with moderation ; otherwise, sir, weak and 
feeble as I am, I would have spurned you with the bitterest 
indignation, and driven you from before me with the ut- 
most contempt. Go, sir ! leave this house, and never let 
us see you again !” 

“ I am sorry,” said the cool villain, “ that you take the 
matter up in this manner; it is no fault of mine if you 
choose to quarrel with me. I will not, however, be in- 
sulted with impunity by those whom I have saved from 
starvation. You have only to choose between my offer to 
your niece and a prison, and I leave you but a short time 
to think of it.” 

“ Villain ! wretch ! miscreant !” were words that rose in 
succession from Bab and Fanny; whilst Abel, still strug- 
gling with himself to keep his hands from assault, opened 
the door with one hand, and pointing to it with the other, 
roared out in a voice of thunder, “Begone! — delay, and 
we will wreak our vengeance upon you. Begone !” 

At these words the insolent wretch, vociferating threats 
of vengeance, left the room, and bounding down the stairs, 
opened the door, and darted out of the house. 

“ And now welcome ruin, — welcome misfortune !” said 
Abel, clasping his hands ; “ for they will soon be with us. 
Let us pray that we mp.y be enabled to meet our fate with 
fortitude, and with entire submission to the Divine will.” 
He had no sooner finished these words than Mary came 
into the room, impelled by the sound of the high words 
6 * 


66 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


which had caught her ear, and full of eager inquiry into 
the cause of this apparent distress. 

“ Let us prepare, my dearest Mary,” said her uncle, 
“ for every privation, for every worldly evil, for we have 
fallen into the hands of a ruthless villain — he will not spare 
us. Before another day is over I shall be lodged in a 
prison.” 

“ In a prison !” exclaimed Bab ; “ what do you say, 
Abel? You take things a great deal too seriously; the 
wretch will never venture to lay his hands upon you : how 
can he put you into prison, when he told us that we might 
pay him back his money whenever it was convenient — at 
our utmost leisure, he said ; these were his words?” 

“ A villain in one thing will be a villain in others,” said 
Abel. “ I tell you we have no other prospect than a pri- 
son : but let us repeat with reverence, God’s holy will be 
done !” 

“ Amen !” said Mary, with pure devotion and resigna- 
tion beaming in her eyes. 

“ I wish Edward Manby were here,” said Fanny. 

“What a pity it is that Mark Woodcock should be 
gone !” said Bab. 

“ Let us put our trust in Heaven,” said Abel ; “ for we 
have not an earthly friend near us to whom we can look 
for protection ; — again I say, God’s will be done !” 

Before the night closed they were visited by Woodby’s 
attorney, who came to demand payment for the hundred 
pounds lent. Abel did not allow his sisters to interfere, but 
at once avowed his inability to discharge the debt. Bab 
would have asserted Tom’s promise that the sum might be 
returned at their leisure, but Abel would not permit any 
such plea to be alleged ; he merely said, “Mr. Woodby is 
perfectly acquainted with our situation ; he knows how im- 
possible it is for us to pay him now, and we are ready to 
abide by whatever consequences may ensue.” 

The attorney then retired, and Abel again urged his sis- 
ters and his niece to prepare for the worst. “ I know 
nothing of law ; it is evident that a man must pay what 
he owes, in whatever manner the debt may have been con- 
tracted, and the law makes no allowance for defects of 
judgment. Better had we never borrowed this money, for 
then perhaps we might not have been the cause of so much 
wickedness in this young man’s breast! But again, I say, 
we must submit to the decrees of Providence, and by pa- 
tiently waiting until this tyranny is past, we may be cer- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


67 


tain that the result will be an increase of good to our bet- 
ter interests.” 

Abel’s conduct on this trying occasion tended greatly to 
soothe the bitterness of his sisters’ feelings ; and they all 
retired to rest, after having poured out the effusion of their 
hearts with more than usual* fervour, in their accustomed 
evening prayers. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The righteous man dragged to prison at the suit of an 
unfeeling designer . 

On the very next morning Abel’s anticipations were re- 
alized. He had scarcely got out of bed when a knock was 
heard at the door, and very soon a sheriff’s officer appear- 
ed, and producing his warrant arrested Abel at the suit of 
Mr. Thomas Goold Woodby, junior. This was no sooner 
known in the house than all its inmates came rushing from 
their bed-rooms, with terror in their looks and dismay in 
their hearts. Aunt Barbara first appeared, backed by old 
Betty, and addressing the sheriff’s officer, as if he were 
the cause of this act, not only explained from beginning to 
end the whole of the transaction between herself and Tom 
Woodby, but attempted to move his heart by describing 
the injustice inflicted upon them by the Republic of Mex- 
ico. She expended her oratory in vain upon the individual 
standing before her, who accustomed to such like scenes, 
did not allow his official duty to own that he had a heart, 
but merely civilly inquired of Abel whether he wished 
to proceed to a sponging house. Being ignorant of the ob- 
ject of such a house, no one could answer. 

“ If you cannot afford to pay the expenses of a spong- 
ing-house,” said the officer, “ I must take you at once to 
the prison.” 

“ We can afford nothing,” said Abel, “ for we have no- 
thing.” 

“ May we be allowed to go with him?” said Mary, who 
had made a violent effort to prevent giving vent to her grief 
hy tears. 

“ You may accompany him and remain with him in the 
prison during the day,” said the officer ; “ but at nine 
o’clock he is locked up for the night. You had better take 
with you such clothes and comforts as he may require in 


68 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


prison; and should you wish to be near him, plenty of 
lodgings are to be had in the neighbourhood.” 

With aching hearts and broken spirits did Barbara and 
Fanny prepare to leave Golden-square. It was determined 
that they should accompany Abel, take a lodging near 
him, and, abandoning the one they now occupied, let it for 
_ the remainder of their term. They gathered up what things 
were necessary, and were about to depart, when an inci- 
dent took place, which, whilst it almost overpowered their 
feelings, in some measure cheered their hearts, because 
they found that they had a friend in store who truly sym- 
pathized in their misery. Old Betty, their faithful servant, 
came forward, holding in her hand a small canvass bag ; 
and whilst her face bore testimony to the strong feeling 
which impelled her, she put it into Abel’s hand, and said, 
“ Sir, excuse the liberty ; I can’t help doing this whilst 
you are so distressed, — there are my savings, pray take 
them, and God’s blessing be upon you all !” 

There was a truth and a simplicity in her whole de- 
portment which struck so directly upon the tender feelings 
of those present that they could not restrain their tears, and 
the scene which ensued was one of the deepest pathos. All 
Barbara’s energies were at once overpowered, and taking 
the old servant’s hand within her own. she wrung them 
with the warmest affection without being able to utter a 
word. Fanny burst into a flood of tears, whilst Mary 
cried and turned her heart to God in prayer. Abel alone, 
having fortified his mind by all the power of piety, had 
strength enough to express his thanks and his affection to 
the simple-hearted creature, and having assured her that he 
would willingly avail himself of her generosity, could it 
be of any substantial use, requested her to keep her gold 
for some more pressing occasion, when real and actual 
destitution should overpower them ; and if she were still 
determined to ally her fortune to theirs, he hoped she 
would continue to support his sisters and niece by her 
kindness and fidelity. The sheriff’s officer, not accustom- 
ed to witness so much virtue and disinterestedness, was 
himself softened, and throwing into his words as much of 
the tone of consolation as he could command, recommend- 
ed them to husband whatever money they possessed, for it 
would be useful in the prison, to secure a better treatment 
than fell to the lot of the utterly destitute. 

Leaving old Betty in charge of their actual lodgings, 
Barbara, Fanny, and Mary ascended the hackney-coach 
with Abel, and escorted by the officer, bent their way to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


69 


the prison, which was situated far away in one of the re- 
mote streets of the City. Little was said during their long 
drive. They thought the streets, the rows of houses, and 
the passing population, were interminable. At length their 
eyes caught a view of certain lofty walls, surrounded by 
spikes, which told them their pilgrimage was nearly over ; 
and in a few minutes after, they stopped in front of a heavy, 
dark-looking building, the gates of which were in perfect 
character with those of a place of confinement. The officer 
announced that they were to alight. Leaving the carriage, 
they straightway were received at a strong iron wicket- 
gate, by the Cerberus of the establishment, who, accus- 
tomed to such visiters, let them pass without a word. 
They proceeded with dismay in their hearts, looking 
around as if they were shut out of the world for ever. 
They walked between two high walls, on one side seeing 
nothing but a massive accumulation of brick, on the other 
looking through a succession of narrow grated windows, 
which disclosed the forms of a numerous company of pri- 
soners seated in groups on benches and around tables. 
Again they came to an iron wicket, as strongly fortified as 
the first, where they were received by a second jailor ; and 
some words having passed between him and the sheriff’s 
officer, they proceeded onwards, winding their way through 
intricate alleys and walls, occasionally meeting men of 
dirty and unwashed aspect, until they reached a third 
wicket, opening upon a large open court, in which was 
seen a considerable number of people, the future compa- 
nions in adversity of the unfortunate Abel. Here they 
stopped awhile until their conductor had made some short 
preliminary arrangements, when they were admitted with- 
in the wicket, and this they were informed was Abel’s des- 
tined place of residence. It was a severe trial when they 
looked around them and saw the gloomy spot and the 
wretched men who inhabited it. On all sides were high 
walls covered with iron spikes, and every avenue was barr- 
ed and defended to the utmost. Stone benches were 
placed against the walls, and the court-yard was paved 
with flag-stones. On first inspection, the prisoners made 
no impression of being in misery : many were noisy, ap- 
parently full of coarse gaiety ; others walked and talked 
with seeming indifference ; others again were taken up 
with various games ; whilst here and there might be ob- 
served, groups seriously engaged in the discussion of their 
affairs. Some few, solitary and dejected, appeared wrapt 
in thought, and kept aloof from the throng. In some 


70 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


places might be observed the wife and children cheering 
the spirits of the ruined father ; in others a daughter might 
be seen tending her sick parent ; and everywhere, and in 
every person, the reflecting mind would find ample mate- 
rials for speculation. 

When Abel, his sisters and niece, appeared, they made 
but a transient sensation ; for what is frequent, however 
distressing, soon becomes a habit, and is therefore beheld 
with indifference. When, however, Mary had come under 
the attention of the prisoners, her beauty became the theme 
of every tongue ; and, but for the desire of remaining with 
her uncle, she would willingly have left the dismal place. 
From the court-yard they had access to a room common 
to all, where tables were placed at intervals, surrounded by 
wooden benches, and thither they retreated to converse un- 
observed. This room, which was of large dimensions, and 
well lighted from the court-yard, scarcely wore the appear- 
ance of a prison ; and to those who could afford to pay for 
better food (which was supplied on the spot,) than the com- 
mon bread and water of the establishment, the privations 
they were called upon to undergo, were not of that nature 
'which are generally supposed to be the concomitant of a 
prison. Abel was informed that the prisoners enjoyed the 
advantage of a chapel on Sundays, and that an allowance 
of meat was given to each prisoner who attended divine 
service. Hardened, indeed, must that heart be in wicked- 
ness, thought Abel, which requires to be enticed by earthly 
food, to receive the advantage of heavenly ; and that small 
incident alone, more than any other, taught him what might 
be the character of his future associates. 

Having duly paid the customary fees, and read all the 
regulations for ensuring order and cleanliness, he was told 
by the officer, that the governor of the prison was a most 
excellent humane man, who was ever ready to listen to 
complaints, anil to further the comforts of those under his 
charge, and which he frequently did with most beneficial 
results. This was cheering intelligence to them all ; and 
they determined as soon as possible to make themselves 
known to one who might be of so much service in alleviat- 
ing their distressing situation. Barbara and Fanny were 
dejected and oppressed with woful forebodings ; they could 
not suppose that what they saw before them was all that 
Abel had to suffer : the spirits of the one had entirely for- 
saken her, for she relinquished the hope of ever returning 
to the enjoyment of the world ; the other, who had never 
been burthened by responsibility, was quite bewildered and 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


71 


astounded at the turn their affairs had taken, and lost in one 
great confusion of ideas, sat mute with despair. Although, 
in common acceptation, they were good religious women, 
performing the duties supposed to constitute Christians, yet 
this event showed how very far they were from enjoying 
all the advantages of that character in its brightest meaning. 
Their brother, on the contrary, who in truth had laboured 
unremittingly to act up to his principles, now felt the whole 
value of the faith which he professed ; his cheerfulness never 
forsook him ; with the same equanimity that he encountered 
loss of fortune, he met the confinement of his prison, and he 
would have faced death with the same constancy; he now felt 
the whole power of the support which religion produces ; 
and instead of requiring cheering -words to soothe his mise- 
ry, he it was who gave strength to his desponding sisters. 
When they deplored the confinement to which he was con- 
demned, the associates to whom he was united, and the 
long tedium of the days and nights which he would pass 
without occupation, Abel gave for answer, “ Do not deplore 
my fate — I want but little ; leave me alone with my Bible, 
and I have all that I require. If a man cannot succeed in 
making a paradise of his own breast by reflecting upon the 
glorious promises made to him therein, and battering upon 
his faith in them, then indeed he is much to be pittied ; and 
wretched indeed should I be without such comfort. But, 
as I have a Bible, thanks be to God ! and as my existence 
is taken up in thinking upon its contents, I am happy, and 
perhaps in reality, happier than most men.” 

“ But surely,” said Bab, “ you are not going to sit down 
here for life, satisfied with your fate, whilst you have to 
combat the injustice of that wretch Tom Woodby?” 

“ Yes,” said Fanny ;” “ and not only of Tom, but of 
his whole odious family, who in our days of prosperity, 
professed friendship for us, and now look upon us as not 
fit to be spoken to. They treated us worse than dogs on 
that day when we dined with them. As for Lady Thom- 
son, I really thought that she expected us to make her an 
apology for having bodies and souls as well as herself.” 

“ My dear sisters,” said Abel, “ I would willingly pay 
Tom Woodby what we owe him, and we must labour so to 
do to the utmost of our ability; but as I cannot labour here, 
I must wait until other means are within my power. You 
must in the meanwhile support yourselves ; and as it ap- 
pears we are blessed with a good governor of this prison, I 
dare say he will assist us in disposing of your work.” 

Mary’s eyes glisleiided at this proposal , and in her pre- 


72 


ABEL ALLNETT. 


sent situation she professed herself happier than she had 
been for some time, principally because she had got rid of 
the odious importunities of Tom Woodby, and because 
she now really had a specific object for the exertion of her 
whole industiy. 

As the day drew to a close, they felt it necessary to re- 
turn to Golden-square for the night, with the intention of 
hiring a new lodging in the neighbourhood on the morrow. 
They then took their leave of Abel. This was the first 
time they had been separated, and bitter indeed was the 
moment when they saw the gate turned upon them, leaving 
him a prisoner within. Although he was in the close re- 
lation of a brother, little did they know the strength of 
those inward feelings of his breast, which now made him 
anything rather than an object of pity — feelings of which 
only the possessor can possibly know the real power and 
extent. Barbara wept ; Fanny would have bemoaned her- 
self outright, had she not been checked by the gaze of the 
surrounding prisoners ; and Mary, whose heart was ready 
to break from the intensity of her emotions, (loving her uncle 
with the most ardent affection,) stifled her grief, because 
she knew how much she would add to his affliction did she 
exhibit all her feeling. Abel turned from them and was 
soon lost among the crowd of prisoners ; whilst they, es- 
corted by the same sheriff’s officer as before, bent their 
way homewards. With his help they secured lodgings in 
the neighbourhood of the prison ; and having quitted Gold- 
en-square, we shall for the present leave them installed in 
their new abode, to relate other particulars necessary to 
the developement and winding up of this our history. 

Should we have succeeded in interesting our readers in 
the fate of our simple friends, we fear that we must still 
call upon their sympathies for some indefinite time. We 
leave them in a wretched lodging, consisting of two small 
rooms ill furnished, and a most minute attic, where old 
Betty lay. We leave them to gain their livelihood by the 
work of their own hands, to struggle with poverty in every 
shape, and to combat the thousand distresses which belong 
to dependence. Unknown and poor, they were suspected 
and distrusted ; without a friend, their days passed on in 
dull sameness ; and were it not for the influence of Abel’s 
conduct and exhortations, the practical advantages of which 
now shone with redoubled force, they would have sunk 
into hopeless despair, and have died the death of those 
broken-hearted wretches who live without God in the 
world. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


73 


CHAPTER X. 

New characters described , important to the beginning 
of the end of this history. 

We must now direct the attention of the reader to an 
entirely distinct series of events, in which a succession 
of new personages are about to be brought before him. 
In the development of their actions, we have endeavour- 
ed to show how remote causes bear upon the lives and 
destinies of individuals; thus exhibiting the mysterious 
ways of Providence in producing results which, in the 
narrowness of man’s perceptions, he may perhaps indis- 
tinctly anticipate, but cannot with certainty foresee. 

We have before mentioned the name of Old bourn as 
that of the person whom Mark Woodcock was commis- 
sioned to seek in some far-distant part of Asia, or 
wherever he might be. The circumstances which 
brought on this event we will endeavour to comprise in 
as small a compass as possible, and only put forth such 
a portion of them as may be necessary to the full eluci- 
dation of this our history. 

Sir Roger Oldbourn was a baronet of ancient descent, 
of great wealth, and the owner of vast hereditary es- 
tates, who lived in the family mansion, surrounded by 
a park and all the concomitants of grandeur, situated in 
one of the eastern counties of England. He was the 
transmitter of a long line of faces, — or, as a wag in the 
neighbourhood once said, “of a line of long faces,” — 
and was now, owing to weak health brought on by con- 
stitutional gout, drawing fast to the close of his earthly 
pilgrimage. 

Although his family was ancient, yet it was not nu- 
merous; for it was one of the marking circumstances of 
its history that the line had been carried on for the 
most part by only sons, — the males having always 
evinced strong antipathies to the marriage state, and 
usually marrying late in life, more for convenience’ 
sake than for other motives, in order to procure heirs 
whereby to prevent the extinction of the name and the 
dispersion of the property. The father of the present 
baronet was rather an exception to the rule, for he mar- 

VOL. ii. — 7 


74 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


vied at the age of forty and had three children — two 
sons and one daughter. The eldest was Roger: the se- 
cond was Peregrine; and a daughter, married in early 
life. 

All the Oldbourns had strong literary tastes, which 
were principally displayed in the investigation of an- 
tiquity. Their imaginations would take fire at the sight 
of an old urn or a rusty helmet, when the beauties of 
Nature would pass unnoticed. They had all been col- 
lectors in the various departments of antiquity; so much 
so, that the family mansion, Oldbourn Hall, was more 
like a museum than a living house. Ancient armour, 
Roman vases, cabinets of coins, bas-reliefs, bronzes, 
marbles, and every species of remains, were deposited 
throughout the house in conspicuous places, and formed 
the pride and delight of the family. 

Sir Roger himself was a collector; but his tastes soar- 
ed far beyond Roman remains — he aspired to the pos- 
session of Grecian treasures, and had been successful 
in the acquisition of some of the choicest specimens of 
art, the produce of the genius of that celebrated people. 
In his youth he had travelled in Greece, where his taste 
was formed; and he there became imbued with the su- 
periority of the Greeks in matters of sculpture and 
architecture over every other nation of the world. This 
had become the predominant feeling of his mind, and 
his zeal for antiquity placed him foremost in the ranks 
of the virtuosi and antiquarians of his day. He wrote 
a celebrated essay upon the Siege of Troy, in which he 
disproved every thing which others had proved, and 
distinguished himself by disturbing the general belief 
upon several of the best authenticated events in ancient 
history, — writing dissertations to maintain that his facts 
were the only true facts, and his opinions the only true 
opinions. He became a member of all the learned so- 
cieties in Europe, and consequently as many initial let- 
ters crowded after his name as are contained in the 
alphabet. With such occupations, and in the excite- 
ment of such pursuits, he quite forgot to marry; and old 
age already began to creep upon him ere he had pro- 
vided himself with an heir to his estates. He consoled 
himself, however, by the reflection that he had a brother 
who would take that trouble off* his hands; and about 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


75 


the time we are now describing, his whole thoughts were 
turned to the accomplishment of that object. 

He had ever been tenacious of the antiquity of his 
family ; his pride of ancestry was excessive, and he al- 
lowed of no compromise when anything was proposed 
which might lower the dignity of his name. This was 
strongly exemplified in the treatment which his sister 
had met at his hands. She, when a sentimental young 
girl, against every wish of her family, had married a 
lieutenant in a marching regiment, of the name of Man- 
by, no otherwise distinguished than as being very hand- 
some, and poor as lieutenants generally are. She was 
in consequence entirely discarded by her family; and 
when her brother came into possession, with his title, 
he adopted all the family hates, and was inflexible to- 
wards his sister and her husband. We need not in- 
form the reader that she was the mother of Edward, who, 
we hope, has made no unfavourable impression in our 
narrative, and of whose fate we shall have much to re- 
late hereafter. 

When the death of his sister and of her husband was 
announced to Sir Roger, we will not say that he re- 
joiced at the circumstance — for he was not in fact a 
hard-hearted man; but he felt like one relieved from 
the claims of a just debt; — he said to himself, with a 
sigh, “Poor thing! it is a mercy that she’s dead!” and 
honoured her memory by ordering a suit of black 
clothes. 

But when, shortly after, he received a letter to in- 
form him that that sister had left an infant son desti- 
tute and in want of every assistance, he became inflated 
and angry with ancestral pride as he reflected that his 
nephew’s name was Manby, and wrote back for answer 
by return of post that he must decline any interference 
with what did not belong to him; begging that the 
child might be taken to the father’s relations, for that 
‘he could not be called upon to come forward;’ for such 
is the formulary on such occasions. The child did re* 
turn to his father’s relations; and his paternal uncle, 
then a clerk in a brewer’s counting-house, and after- 
wards a brewer himself, brought him up — and we need 
not again repeat the career which he had run. 

Sir Roger, however, was not inwardly displeased to 
know that he had a real and lawful nephew belonging 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


76 

to the family stock in store, in case he did. not marry 
himself, and in case anything should happen to his bro- 
ther. This reflection soothed his indolence, cherished 
his objection to marriage, and gave him more leisure to 
write essays; and although he never openly made in- 
quiries concerning him, or took any apparent interest 
in his fate, yet he managed to learn by indirect means 
that he lived, that he was strong and healthy, and that 
he would not be a disgrace to his name. He more 
than once, particularly when assailed by illness, had 
been on the point of sending for Edward and adopting 
him in his family; but he was as often stopped by that 
said feeling of pride, which made him feel that in so 
doing he would be open to associating with tradesmen, 
and known as the connexion of a brewer. 

His brother, Peregrine Qldbourn, many years younger 
than himself, was a most thorough scion of the old 
stock in tastes and in disinclination to marriage, al- 
though he superadded a catalogue of eccentricities 
which, as they all had a “leaning to virtue’s side,” en- 
deared him to everybody who knew him, and particu- 
larly to Sir Roger. Peregrine had early caught his 
brother’s taste for antiquity and antiquarian research, 
and had been fired by the descriptions of his travels. 
He passed through school and college with high dis- 
tinctions as a scholar; and not being satisfied with the 
bare acquisition of Greek and Latin, with great as- 
siduity, he busied himself in the acquisition or the Ori- 
ental languages — -.laying up a store, as he said, for the 
time when he should travel into Eastern countries, 
where he hoped to make his own collections, and carry 
forward his own investigations. His whole ambition 
was to be a learned man and a great traveller: one of 
his earliest wishes was to become possessor of a certain 
altar dedicated to Bacchus, in the island of Delos, of 
which one sees a representation in Tournefort’s Tra- 
vels, and which, as will be narrated hereafter, he at- 
tempted to gratify. 

At his father’s death he became possessed of a small 
independent fortune, which amply allowed him to 
prosecute his own tastes; and when he left college, un- 
like other young men, who often devote themselves to 
pleasure and frivolity, he buried himself in his books, 
and led the life of a student. These habits brought 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


77 

with them a train of eccentricities which increased 
with his years. He seemed by Nature cast in the 
mould of an old man, as if it were intended that he 
should begin life by the end instead of the beginning. 
His person was stiff*, the shape of his face antiquated, 
and his dress in every way suited to these characteris- 
tics: no superfluous hair gamboled over his well-shorn 
face, no button compressed that which was intended to 
be unconfined, and no Crispin was ever allowed to 
plan a shoe that would generate an excrescence. His 
manners were distinguished by old-fashioned courtesy 
and a tone of great benevolence; but at the same time 
he was subject to such fits of absence, that a stranger 
often set him down as proud and supercilious. It was 
principally from this infirmity he derived the character 
of eccentricity with which he was destined to go 
through life. His early friends accused him of affec- 
tation: it is probable that had he been well ridiculed at 
first, the habit of abstraction which at length became 
part of his nature might have been destroyed, and that 
a sane mind would have thus been gained to the world. 
As it was, from at first becoming forgetful of times and 
places, he gradually became lost to all the common re- 
collections so necessary in an intercourse with our fel- 
low-creatures. He forget the names of his acquaint- 
ance, often of his intimate friends; he as commonly 
arrived before his time at an appointed place as after 
it, and most frequently not at all. One of the princi- 
pal feats in record against him was performed at an 
evening party, after he had drunk tea; viz. placing his 
teacup within a gentleman’s hat who was standing near 
him, mistaking it for the servant’s salver. Many and 
such like acts secured for him the imputation of eccen- 
tricity, which rendered him an object of kind remark to 
his friends, and of ridicule to his acquaintance. 

Having quitted the university, he sought the first 
opportunity to put into execution his favourite project 
of Eastern travel; but this was delayed as much by the 
impediments which his brother threw in his way, as by 
his own habits of indolence, absence, and procrastina- 
tion. His brother’s object in keeping him at home w'as 
to see him married; but to this Peregrine was so much 
averse — at least before he had worked off* his longing to 
apply his antiquarian lore to practical purposes, that at 
7 * 


78 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


length it was thought better to restrain him no longer, 
in order that by giving the reins to his desire, acqui- 
escence might be produced by satiety. 

At length he took his departure, anxious to go over 
the same ground in Greece which his brother had tra- 
velled before him, and bound by a promise that as soon 
as he should have entirely gratified his curiosity, he 
would return home and fulfil his brother’s wishes by 
taking unto himself a wife. 

We will not enter into a long detail of his travels 
through Europe, nor of the various adventures produ- 
ced by his oddities and peculiarities: it will suffice to 
say, that go where he would, he was sure to sustain to 
the utmost the character of his countrymen for eccen- 
tricity. In France he was called ‘cet insulaire bizarre ,’ 
( cet original ,’ ce drole de corps? In Italy, those who 
had dealings with him would first point to their heads, 
and then shaking their finger, would exclaim. Quel mi- 
lordo e un proco cosi , cosi. There his enthusiasm for 
antiquity broke out in all its vigour, and he became 
the idol of cicerones and the milch-cow of the virtuosi. 
Before he was allowed to leave Rome, he was encum- 
bered with so many genuine articles of the remotest 
antiquity— so many undoubted busts, such varieties of 
unique cameos, such specimens of rare intaglios, and 
so many things of which he was assured to be the only 
happy and highly enviable possessor, that already he 
might be said to have made a good collection. His 
ardour, however, was a little cooled when, after having 
paid a large sum for the indubitable fragment of an 
Apollo, which only wanted head, arms, and legs to 
make it perfect, described to him as having been re- 
cently dug up in the Forum, he found that a brother 
traveller had purchased a similar thing, only perfect, 
for a very small price, from the artist himself. 

From Naples he crossed over to Sicily. At Pmstum 
he almost ran clean out of his wits with delight and an- 
tiquarian rapture; but in Sicily, going from one ruin to 
another, unchecked by the ardent heat of the sun, un- 
dismayed by difficulty and discomfort, he was obliged 
to stay his progress for a while, owing to a violent attack 
of fever. 

This circumstance had one beneficial result, for it 
tended very much to cure him of some of those fancies 
and vagaries which had begun to unfit him for the com- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


79 

mon affairs of life: he was obliged to exert the energies 
of his mind as well as his body for practical purposes, 
and thus he was driven from that dreaming mood which 
bade fair to make him a totally useless member of so- 
ciety. As soon as he recovered, he embarked for Malta. 
There he sojourned some time, and then crossed the 
Archipelago to Rhodes. He landed in safety in Syria, 
and reached Aleppo in good health; and this was the 
last place from whence his brother had received any 
tidings of him. 


CHAPTER XL 

Ji letter from the East , which , if out of place here , may 
be appreciated elsewhere . 

Sir Roger had long been in expectation- of news from 
his brother, and began to be very anxious for his safety, 
because, in his last letter, he intimated that he was 
about crossing the Great Desert to Bagdad. However, 
his fears were relieved upon receiving a letter from him 
in perfect health, and full of ardour in his pursuits. 
The precise spot whence this was written was omitted, 
and only after an examination of its contents did it ap- 
pear that it came from Persepolis. Not once had he 
named that place throughout the letter; by which he 
disclosed that peculiar quality of his mind which exhi- 
bited acuteness and intelligence upon matters of specu- 
lative interest, while it rendered him forgetful of the 
common forms and provisions necessary to the daily 
business of life. 

As this letter is likely to throw light upon his cha- 
racter, and as moreover it contains some hints which 
may be thought worthy the attention of the learned, 
although it be inclosed within the leaves of a novel, we 
think that we cannot do better than to insert it at full 
length. It was as follows: 

“From my tent, pitched in the 
Great Hall of Columns. 

“Dear Roger, 

“My imagination takes me to the moment when 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


80 

you will open this my letter and become informed of 
the place from which it is dated. If you have not lost 
all your former ardour for the sublime study of anti- 
quity — if the interest which you once took in things 
gone by be not entirely lost in that for the things that 
are, you will rejoice to hear from a spot so interesting 
to the historian and the antiquary as the one from which 
I now write. I would not begin with so much enthu- 
siasm had I merely to describe what I see before and 
around me — objects which have already been described, 
and which are now as well known in their details as any 
of the celebrated ruins of Italy or Greece; but I write 
with the more zeal, because I think that I have hit upon 
a better explanation of the history of these celebrated 
remains than, as far as I am informed, has been given 
by any preceding traveller. In two words, before I go 
further, I will say that the conclusion I have come to is, 
namely, this: that these ruins, in architecture and gene- 
ral character, afford specimens of the architecture and 
general character of the Temple of Solomon. 

“Do not, now, j beseech you, begin to exclaim, as 
you are wont to do, ‘This is one of your paradoxes — this 
is one of your theories founded upon a crotchet and en- 
gendered by a conceit; — but hear me out, and you will 
see that I have more to go upon than you at first may 
conceive. 

“My conclusion is mainly grounded upon several 
points of similitude which exist between the actual re- 
mains and the description of the temple given in the 1st 
Book of Kings, 4th chap., and in the 2d Chronicles, 
3rd chap., ancl upon the coincidence which makes the 
rebuilders of the temple and the ancient possessors of 
this place to be one and the same personages. 

“The first point of similitude which I find is in tke 
general contrivance and character of the building. We 
read in 1st Kings, 6th chap., of a porch before the tem- 
ple of the house; of windows of narrow lights against 
the wall of the house; of chambers round about; of a 
middle chamber; and of winding stairs into the mid- 
dle chamber, and out of the middle into the third. Now 
here I can distinguish a porch — a porch too forming 
a principal feature of the whole building; then I find 
my windows of narrow lights, with my several cham- 
chambers built round about; and also I am abundant 
in stairs, which may be called winding, inasmuch 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


81 

a ? they go from one platform to another. All these 
different objects are of a peculiar style of composition, 
a little tinged with Egyptian taste, but otherwise quite 
unique: they compose an immense building, which, 
like the Temple of Solomon, might have been half 
house, half temple, built of stone; the masses, which 
are put together with considerable skill, seem to have 
been ‘made ready before they were brought thither,’ 
and when upraised in walls, have a striking and remark- 
able appearance. 

“We also read that ‘the house of the forest of Leban- 
on,’ which appears to have been identified with the tem- 
ple, was raised upon forty-five pillars. Now this great 
hall was supported by forty-eight pillars, exclusive of 
others in various parts; and it is morover generally 
called by the natives Chehcl Minar , — the Forty Pillars. 

“The next point of similitude is, I conceive, to be 
found in the architecture of the pillars themselves. The 
description found in the 7th chapter of 1st Kings, 15th 
and following verses, of the two pillars of brass, and in 
the 3rd chap, of the 2nd Chronicles, 15th and 16th 
verses, evidently the same pillars, although their di- 
mensions are given differently, appears very much to 
illustrate the very singular, and 1 believe 1 may say, 
the only pillars of the sort in the world, which are seen 
here erect in the building which I call the porch. In 
the sacred text, they appear to have been composed of 
base, shaft, and capital, as in the established orders; 
but the capitals were quite different from those known 
in Greece, inasmuch as there was a great accumulation 
of ornament. What ‘the nets of checker work,’ and 
‘wreaths of chain work,’ and ‘the pomegranates,’ might 
have been, it would be difficult to say; but certainly 
the capitals of the pillars now before me, curious and 
complicated as they are, to my mind afford an expla- 
nation which no other capitals that I have ever seen can 
give me. 1 think much might be said in bringing out 
the similitude, — but that I cannot do in the short limits 
of a letter: it is.enough to assert, that these columns, 
without any stretch of imagination, may be fairly said 
to have originated in the same school as those described 
in the Bible. 

“The third very singular point of similitude is in the 
sculpture, and particularly in illustration of what both 


82 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


in the Kings and in the Chronicles are called the cheru- 
bims. In Calmet we find some very full details upon 
this subject, although nothing conclusive; for on no 
subject, it appears, has there been so many unavailing 
conjectures as respecting the nature of these figures. 
Grotius says the cherubims were figures like a calf; 
Bochart and Spencer, an ox. Josephus says they were 
extraordinary creatures, of a figure unknown to man- 
kind. Clemens Alexandrinus believes the Egyptians 
imitated the cherubims of the Hebrews in their sphynxes 
and hieroglyphical animals. The descriptions which 
Scripture gives of the cherubim differ, but all agree in 
representing a figure composed of various creatures — a 
man, an ox, an eagle, and a lion. Now, these most ex- 
traordinary figures represented upon the portals here 
combine these four characteristics; and I agree with 
Calmet, that in these interesting sculptures we may 
gather a very fair idea of the figure called the cherubim. 
May one not naturally ask, then, how got they here? 
If my conclusion be just, that the architect of the Tem- 
ple of Solomon and of these immense structures, was 
the same; then the answer to be made is at once easy 
and natural, and the solution of the difficulty self-evi- 
dent. 

“The fourth point of similitude is the circumstance of 
overlaying the walls with gold. Everywhere the house 
of the Lord is described as being overlaid with gold : 
the walls, the cherubims, the carved figures, the palm- 
trees — all were overlaid with gold. Now, in every 
part of these ruins are evident traces of either gold or 
some bright metal having been let in. In almost all the 
large figures representing a royal personage, that is, in 
the tiara or crown, the beard, and the bracelet, — may 
be seen the remains of small nails — some in which the 
nails are still found, which fixed the plates of metal on 
the stone; and, 1 think, on examining the surface of 
the inscriptions, the sculptured palm-trees, and other 
figures, it is not difficult, to remark that they have been 
overlaid with some composition which in its original 
form very likely shone like gold, or by its colour was 
made to represent that metal. 

“These different points of similitude, and the many 
others which I could adduce, would have produced com- 
paratively but small influence on my mind, were they 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


83 


not backed by the circumstance that the possessors of 
these regions and the possessors of Jerusalem were one 
and the same. Cyrus, upon becoming the sovereign of 
both Media and Persia, began the rebuilding of the 
temple, according to that renowned edict of his record- 
ed in Ezra i. 2. After a suspension of the building, 
owing to the counteracting intrigues of the Samaritans, 
it was again set forward in the second year of Darius 
Hystaspes, and finished in the sixth year of that mon- 
arch’s reign ; he having discovered among the Jewish 
treasures at Babylon the rolls or books relating to the 
former structure, most likely containing the architec- 
tural plans and details of the building. Now, we ask, 
can any thing be more likely and more consonant to 
what a modern Persian monarch would do, than, whilst 
he ordered a continuation of so famous a building for 
the Jews, that he should build one also for himself, 
adopting the same style of architecture, and 'adapting 
many parts of the temple and of the house of the forest 
of Lebanon to his own use? It is agreeable to reason to 
conclude that the new temple was as like the ancient 
temple as possible; and every plan both of it and the 
house of the forest of Lebanon, which was identified 
with it, was doubtless preserved with as much care as 
were the gold and silver vessels of the house of God. 
That the second temple was as splendid as the first, 
is confirmed by the prophecy of the Prophet Haggai; 
and therefore we may affirm, that what we now see erect 
in the spot whence I am now writing afford a fair idea 
of what might have been the Temple of Solomon and 
the houses belonging to it, and consequently what sort 
of place might have been the spot which was glorified 
by the presence of our blessed Saviour in person. 

“Of what may be said to the contrary by the Persian 
historians or traditionists, that these buildings were 
erected by their fabulous King Jemsheed, I take no 
heed. In matters of such remote antiquity I hold the 
Persian historians to be of no authority, for they do not 
possess any well-authenticated records, as far as I know, 
before the time of Mahomed: whereas, all my conjec- 
I tures have been taken from that book of all truth the 
Bible, and, I flatter myself, are corroborated directly 
and indirectly by the testimony of the Greek historians 
and geographers. 


84 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“This place has also been called Istakher; and that 
city was said to have been built by Jemsheed. Now 
nobody adverts to a rocky eminence in the plain, crown- 
ed by ruined walls and towers, which is to this day 
called Istakher; and which, therefore, might make the 
Persian historians correct, whilst my suggestions may 
therefore be true also. 

“Such, my dear Roger, are the principal arguments 
upon which, without vanity or enthusiasm, I hope to 
establish the facts for which I have been contending. I 
think they will be found of no inconsiderable importance 
as illustrative of both sacred and profane history; and 
in them, perhaps, the decypherer of the arrow-headed 
inscriptions may find a help to his studies. In many of 
the perfect and detailed sculptures we may be furnish- 
ed with new lights upon the connexion which subsisted 
between the ancient Jews and Persians: for, in truth, I 
cannot resist identifying these two nations in my 
thoughts: the cast of their countenances is the same, 
they have the same turn of mind and pursuits, and the 
affinity which existed between them in the ancient times 
to which I have alluded — the one as conquerors, and 
the others as conquered — may perhaps explain why at 
the present day the Jew is more persecuted and degrad- 
ed in Persia than he is in any other country of the East. 
In the mean while, if you are not wholly dead to anti- 
quity, do, pray, at least, be the medium of communi- 
cation with antiquaries. Stir up our old friend and 
partner in work, Dustiman; place the subject before 
him, and let him work it out. I am satisfied to have 
made the discovery — let others explore the mine; and, 
if I mistake not, it will repay them amply. In the 
mean while, I shall continue to make researches; and 
when we meet, I hope to find you ready to listen to 
the narrative of all my numerous adventures. Of the 
people with whom I now live, I shall indeed have much 
to say. In this part of Persia, they are a genuine peo- 
ple, — their faces are sculptured on the walls about me, 
and they answer in a thousand particulars to what is re- 
corded of them, in Herodotus, Xenophon, Curtius, P. 
Mela, Strabo, and many others. The former of these 
worthies flatters my predilection for the state of single 
blessedness whilst he describes their women as unde- 
serving of regard; which makes me suppose that they 


ABEE ALLNUTT. 


85 


were the same worthless beings then that they are now. 
However, do not think that I say this to disqualify my- 
self for my promise. As soon as I return, I will mar- 
ry her whom you will set before me, without asking any 
questions — all I desire is that you make the selection. 
Find me a fitting person, and I marry; but let me not 
be at the trouble of seeking her. When that time shall 
come, is much in the hands of takdeer, as the Persians 
say, and also at the mercy of Turkish Tartars, post- 
horses, and Surigees: but everything being propitious, 
and no antiquities in the way, I may hope to be at the 
Bab Homayan , the Sublime Porte, — in other words, at 
Constantinople, — in about three months from this time. 

“Ever, my dear Roger, 

“Your affectionate brother, 
“Peregrine Oldbourn.” 

“P. S. By the bye, there is one thing I have always 
had on my mind to tell you, but which somehow or 
other 1 have omitted from press of other matter; — which 
is, that a few nights before I left London, at an even- 
ing party at Lady— I forget who’s, I was made much of 
by a Mrs. Somebody and a very charming daughter of 
hers, to whom I fear I said many things which might 
have made her suppose that I had followed your wish in 
proposing marriage: but no such thing, to the best of my 
knowledge, took place, — at least I am sure that I did 
not intend it; although I found, to my dismay, in turn- 
ing over the things in my baggage, that I had brought 
away the young lady’s Cashinerian scarf, which I fear 
I put into my pocket, taking it, I suppose, for my 
pocket-handkerchief. I quite forget the young lady’s 
name, and her mammas; although I think somebody 
said that she was the daughter of the member for York, 
or Cork, or some such place, and that he was celebrated 
for having made two famous speeches, one for, and the 
other against, some famous measure. Whichever way 
it may be, of this be certain, that I am not bound to any 
young lady in the world, — at least, I don’t think I 
am.” 


vol. n. — 8 


$6 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The death of a bachelor described , who was sorry that 
he had not married . 

The letter which we have placed before our reader 
had taken six months to reach its destination, by the 
route of India; and when delivered into Sir Roger’s 
hands, he was living in the family mansion in the coun- 
try, confined by a violent paroxysm of gout, which had 
attacked him after a long previous state of delicate 
health. Although its contents gave him great delight, 
particularly as it proved his brother’s excellent state of 
health, yet the now predominant desire of his mind, — 
namely, to see that brother married, — was left unsatis- 
fied. He willingly would have sought that wife whom 
Peregrine promised to take to himself as soon as he 
should reach England, were he in a state to execute 
such a commission; but he was obliged to put it off*, 
hoping that after the restoration of his health he would 
be able to bestir himself effectually. But Sir Roger’s 
hopes were never destined to be realised: fit succeeded 
fit; the constitution, vamped up in one place, gave way 
in another: on one day hope predominated, on the next 
despair; — thus the decay gained ground till the decre- 
pit baronet was announced by his physicians to be in a 
dangerous state; and it was gradually broken to him, 
that if he had any disposal to make of his worldly 
affairs, he should lose no time in so doing. 

Mr. Fairfax, his solicitor, was immediately sent for; 
and soon after a post-chaise was seen bowling along the 
sweeping road that led through the park, and stopped at 
the door, where several anxious well-dressed lacqueys 
were waiting the arrival of its tenant. It disgorged a 
little business-like looking gentleman, who by his assi- 
duity in attending upon the commands of others, ap- 
peared to have no time left to think a moment about 
himself, was straightway ushered into the presence of 
the impatient baronet. He approached the sick man 
with cautious step, who, wrapped up from head to foot 
in flannel, looked like the corpse which ere long he was 
destined to become, were it not for the still bright in- 
telligence of his eye, which proclaimed that vitality so 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


8 7 

tardy in becoming extinct would keep him hovering on 
the brink of eternity for some time, ere the scene closed 
upon him for ever. 

With slow and painful speech he addressed Mr. Fair- 
fax as soon as he was made aware of his presence, and 
said, “I have been advised to send for you, — I am glad 
you are come, — life I know is uncertain, and I would 
wish to reconsider my will,” 

Fairfax upon this said the usual consolatory words, 
called for pen, ink and paper, and settled himself be- 
fore a table to write. 

“I know that it is appointed for us all to die, and so I 
mustjthink what is best to do. Peregrine is not yet return- 
ed; that letter” (showing the one which we have before 
mentioned) “makes his return uncertain. Still he must 
be made to marry, or else my estates will fall into 
other hands, which must be avoided. Considering his 
eccentricity of character, and his aversion to the mar- 
riage state, something must be done. Advise me, Mr. 
Fairfax.” 

“You can make his entering into possession condi- 
tional,” said the lawyer. 

“Can IP” said the baronet: “that’s some comfort. ” 

“Yes, certainly,” said Fairfax; “conditional upon his 
marrying within a certain time.” 

“But mind ye,” said Sir Roger, becoming animated, 
“the conditions must be such that the contingency of 
the property falling to my nephew must be rendered 
very improbable. Peregrine is my brother, — my be- 
loved brother!” he added with a deep-drawn sigh: “God 
protect him! he is of the true stock of the Oldbourns. 
I would that I had married! I have been too much 
wedded to my books to care for anything else; but he 
must. We must contrive something: — we must get 
him a wife, — -a young, healthy wife of good family. 
Have you no wives to recommend?” 

At this question Fairfax made a pause, as if the ques- 
tion was one so new in law as to puzzle his sagacity. 
“No, no! we do not keep a disposable stock for such 
occasions,” he said, smiling at the strangeness of the 
demand. 

“A wife must be prepared for him, — that is the object 
I wish to accomplish,” said the baronet. 

“That may be done,” said the lawyer; “but it must 


88 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


be stipulated that if he does not marry within a certain 
time, then he forfeits the estate and it goes to your 
nephew.” 

“Not so fast,” said the sick man with a groan: “can’t 
he be obliged to marry and get the estate too?” 

“That could not be,” said Fairfax; “you cannot im- 
pose a condition without a forfeit, — the whole of our 
life is made up of conditions and forfeits.” 

At this remark the poor dying man sank on his pil- 
low. “But,” said the lawyer, seeing he had said too 
much, and raising his voice, — “But if Mr. Peregrine 
knows that he has to lose an estate worth ten thousand 
pounds a-year if he does not marry within a certain 
reasonable time, then, unless he be a madman, — which 
I believe he is not, — you can have no doubt but that 
your wishes .will be accomplished; you will have com- 
pelled him to marry.” 

“Shall I?” said Sir Roger with a faint smile: “then 
let us compel him by all means. But we must give 
him plenty of time to return home — we must not run 
him hard — we must get him an undeniable wife — we 
must not be hard upon Peregrine. The antiquities of 
the family are entailed, though the estate is not — entail 
my collection upon him too; and do not forget the il- 
lustrated copy of my Dissertation upon the Siege of 
Troy: let him have everything. You will find the cat- 
alogues here, all in good order: let everything be for 
him without a condition, except the house and estate.” 

“But you must describe your nephew,” said the law- 
yer, after he had made a note of his client’s wishes con- 
cerning his brother: “what is his name — where and 
what is he?” 

“My nephew!” exclaimed the baronet as if he had 
received a sudden shock. “True, I have a nephew,— 
I wish I knew where he was: he is my nephew — 
my own poor sister’s son.” Then appearing ab- 
sorbed in mental agony, he slowly said, {k l have never 
seen him — I know not where he is: I fear this is wrong, 
very wrong. Mr. Fairfax, you must find him out for 
me immediately; and perhaps I may see him before — ” 
(there he paused still more distressed,) — “before I die. — 
But I may still live — I am not so bad as that yet; per- 
haps I may still see Peregrine— poor fellow! But find 
out my nephew: his name is Edward— Edward Manby; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


89 

—he is to be heard of at Liverpool. I ought to have 
been more kind to that youth; — you must find him and 
send him to me immediately — something may be doner 
I will recommend him to Peregrine,— he shall do some- 
thing for him, — I am sure he will, for he has a good 
heart, although he may be a little odd. I believe Ed- 
ward lives with his ”he would have said uncle, but 

pride prevented the utterance of that word and it died 
on his lips. “He is to be found at Liverpool — I dare 
say the name is well known there; — send for him,” 

“I will,” said Fairfax; and he immediately made a 
note to that effect. 

Fairfax having succeeded in acquiring all the infor- 
mation necessary for drawing out the will, soon return- 
ed with it to receive the testator’s signature with all the 
proper witnesses. It was drawn up, leaving everything 
to his brother provided he married within six months 
from the time of the baronet’s decease. The inquiries 
which he had set on foot concerning Edward Manby 
had not proved successful in producing his presence. 
This piece of intelligence served much to embitter the 
la9t days of the dying baronet, who, although relieved by 
the act of jnaking and closing his will, could not but feel 
that he had committed one long act of injustice in his beha- 
viour to bte nephew. He endeavoured to palliate it, and 
conceived that he had sufficiently done so, by leaving him 
a legacy, and by the stipulations of the will; which were, 
that should he succeed to the family possessions, he 
was to change his name and to adopt that of Old- 
bourn. He thought thus to have achieved a family con- 
quest, and to have taken a great weight of dishonour 
from off the shoulders of his nephew. He did not long 
survive the transaction we have just recorded; but 
surrounded by all the exterior mockery of woe, whilst 
the true desolation was within, he was gathered to his 
fathers, and his death was trumpeted forth with eulo- 
giums for his learning and his patronage of art, and his 
constitutional principles, and his various accomplish- 
ments; whilst that smaller eulogium in human estima- 
tion, his love of God, for which he would have given 
worlds, did not find its way into the pompous epitaph 
inscribed upon his tomb. The only consolation which 
he enjoyed before he breathed his last, was the recep- 
tion of a letter from his brother announcing his arrival 
8 * 


90 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


at Constantinople; a fact of importance in the legal ar- 
rangements about to be made. As soon as the funeral 
was over, Mr. Fairfax determined to despatch some 
confidential person to seek out the new baronet, wher- 
ever he might be, having previously written the proper 
letter, announcing the death of the late dignitary. 

Mark Woodcock, as we have before explained, was 
nominated to perform this service; and as the arrange- 
ment which took place on that occasion will throw 
some light upon the parties concerned, we briefly nar- 
rate the conversation which took place on that occasion. 
On the morning when Mr. Fairfax had made up his 
mind on the subject, he sent for Mark, who was busily 
employed, pen in hand, his head poring over parchment 
at his desk, and addressed Jiim as follows: 

“Mr. Woodcock, l have business of some import- 
ance to speak to you upon. I believe you talk French 
very well?” 

“Yes, sir, I do,” said Mark. 

“I hope 1 can depend upon your activity, discretion, 
and prudence.” 

“1 hope you can, sir,” said Mark, looking aston- 
ished. 

“Do you know whereabouts Constantinople is?” said 
Mr. Fairfax. 

“Constantinople!” said Mark; “whereabouts it is? 
— is it not the capital of Turkey?” looking still more 
astonished. 

“To be sure it is,” said Mr. Fairfax; “but should 
you know how to get at it?” 

Mark paused for awhile — looked up, then down, 
and then said, “How to get at it, did you say? No, 
sir; — do you?” 

This question puzzled the chief as much as it did 
his clerk; who, putting as good a face upon his igno- 
rance as he could, said, “I have never been there my- 
self; but I suppose when once you are well on the high 
road to it, a good post-chaise and post-horses will take 
you there fast enough.” 

“I dare say the Indian,” said Mark, — “him they call 
the nabob, who comes here sometimes about his claims, 
— would be able to tell us all about it: his country 
and Constantinople are both in the East.” 

“It is possible he may,” said the learned solicitor; 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


91 


“and you may immediately make all the proper inqui- 
ries. It is my intention to send you immediately to 
seek Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, who has lately arrived at 
Constantinople, with papers of consequence; and you 
must prepare yourself to start immediately.” 

“Very well, sir,” said Mark with a thrill of joy dart- 
ing through him; “I will get ready immediately:” and 
he was about leaving the room, when, reflecting a mo- 
ment, he said, “Am I to let my beard grow?” 

The man of parchment with a smile said, <k I suppose 
you must do what is usual on such occasions: but re- 
collect, prudence before everything.” 

Mark, from the moment he had got permission to let 
his beard grow, felt-that having once given the reins to 
the persevering hairs, they would grow with increased 
vigour; and flattering himself that with a beard on his 
chin, and with French in his mouth, he had obtained 
every requisite to make a perfect Eastern traveller, he 
immediately hastened to see all the Allnutts, as we 
have already described in the foregoing volume, to in- 
form them of this new turn in his fortunes. 

The result was, that ere many days had elapsed, 
Mark Woodcock, after having undergone the previous 
labour of getting a passport, securing letters of credit, 
and packing his portmanteau, was duly installed as a 
passenger on board the steam-boat bound for Rotter- 
dam. The only trait worth recording before he left 
England was this, that by way of showing off* his 
French at the passport-office, he insisted upon being 
called Monsieur Becasse; for which he found himself 
so considerably laughed at, that he was satisfied to 
keep his knowledge in that tongue for better purposes. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A cockney's travels through Europe, and his descent 
among the Turks. 

We would at once willingly take our reader to Mr. 
Mark Woodcock’s arrival at Constantinople, whither 
we beg leave to announce that die succeeded in arriving 


92 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


in safety, could we withstand the temptation of know- 
ing what so pure a cockney thought and felt during his 
passage through scenes so totally new to hirn, and of 
which we conclude our reader would be as happy to be 
informed as ourselves. We therefore do not hesitate 
in giving the following extract of a journal which he 
kept, and which indeed he had been desired to keep by 
his chief, 

“On board the London steamer, bound 
for Rotterdam. 

“Left St. Katharine’s Dock at six o’clock in the 
morning: a great deal of company on board. There 
was a fellow who wanted to seize hold of my portman- 
teau. and carpet-bag; but I soon let him know who he 
had got to deal with. I had no sooner put my great- 
coat on a place to secure a seat, than a lady tossed it 
away and sat down herself. I thought that this might 
be the beginning of foreign manners people talk so much 
of, and as she was a lady, I said nothing, but went 
down into the cabin to secure a berth. The man ask- 
ed me, ‘What name?’ I said, ‘Woodcock.’ — ‘Wood- 
cock,’ said he, looking over a list; ‘we have no Wood- 
cocks here: — here are two Partridges though,’ said he, 
‘if that will do, and one Hare.’ — ‘None of your non- 
sense,’ said I, thinking that he was laughing at me: ‘I 
am not to be run down in this manner, if you please.’ 
— ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said he; ‘I really had no 
thought of making game of you. I believe the fellow 
was a wag: and as he allowed me to take a place on a 
shining black sofa, with a shining black bolster to lay 
my head on, I said no more. 

“There was a Dutch steamer that set off at the same 
time that we did; but we soon showed her what an En- 
glish steamer can do. The Dutchman had no chance 
with us; and I soon found that it was quite true what I 
had often heard before, that a Dutchman can’t run: we 
saw nothing more of him after we had passed Deptford. 

“I found a Frenchman on board, and I determined to 
try some of my French upon him; so when we were 
passing Greenwich Hospital, I went up to him and said, 

‘ Est-ce que vous n’avez pas rien comme celui-ci en 
France ?’ The man stared, and making a bow, he said, 

‘I no understand English.’ I never saw such a fool in 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


93 

my life, for I thought at least that a Frenchman could 
understand his own language. 

“We went on very prosperously, although the dinner 
was uncommonly bad, — the beef tough, the cabbage not 
half boiled, and the beer flat: but there was good music, 
and a fellow who played capitally upon the key-bugle 
and made a glorious noise. It was all very well until 
we came off Margate; but there it began to blow, and 
the company to look very uncomfortable. I was deter- 
mined it should not be said that a man going to Con- 
stantinople was sick, so I bore up against it most man- 
fully for some time, whistling and looking into other 
people’s faces: but what could one do against the whole 
ocean! I felt uncommonly unpleasant, and lay down 
upon the horse-hair sofa quite distressed. Mr. Part- 
ridge and son soon came tumbling over me to get to 
their resting-place, and Mr. Hare moaned as if he had 
been shot. I never shall forget what a miserable time 
I passed: I wished myself back in Lincoln’s-inn a 
thousand times, and vowed that nothing again should 
ever take me out of England by sea. I never slept a 
wink all night, and I should like to know who could 
with all the horrid noises about one’s ears— Mr. Hare’s 
in particular; but at last morning came, and we got in 
sight of the Dutch coast, and there the sea became 
smooth. After a great deal of zig-zagging, and what 
is, I suppose, called inland navigation, we reached the 
city of Rotterdam, in Holland, all the natives being 
Dutchmen. The cows are certainly fine; but as for 
their sheep, I did not see one, — although there were 
many wind-mills, and other implements of agriculture. 
Nothing, however, like the chimneys of our steam-en- 
gines did I see along the river, nor one patent-shot ma- 
nufactory, which are so very handsome, and make the 
glory of old England. When 1 got on shore, I felt well 
all of a sudden; which is extraordinary, considering 
what a long voyage we had made. I was taken up be- 
fore the mayor about my passport; and when he found 
that I was going to Constantinople, he looked at me and 
let me go. We all sat down to dinner at a thing they 
call the table ( Vhote , which they might as well have 
called an ordinary, for it was exactly like one: and I 
must say this for them, that they had good fish, — al- 
though they hav’nt a notion of melted butter. They can 


94 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


show nothing like our meat, although they talk a good 
deal about it; and indeed it was all very half-and-half 
sort of work compared with England. 

“After dinner I walked out to see the city; and I was 
bothered out of my wits by a jabbering fellow who pre- 
tended to talk English, to go and see the statue of one 
Erasmus, whoever he may be: but when I came to see 
it, it was not to be compared to the statue of Queen 
Anne standing with her back to St. Paul’s. And then 
he wanted to take me to the tombs of two admirals; but 
1 said we had admirals enough at home, and that our 
Nelson would beat all they could show. The best of 
it was, after I had killed myself in taking a walk with 
this fellow, he insisted upon my paying him, saying he 
was a lacquey out of place; but 1 sent him packing, for 
it was no fault of mine if he was out of place. 

“There are hundreds of bridges here; but I am quite 
certain, were they all put together, they would not 
make one Waterloo, nor one New London Bridge. 
Then I heard so much of Dutch cleanliness! — I am sure 
I saw none of it in the men, or women either, — nothing 
to talk about. They were sluicing their windows, ’tis 
true, with water and hand-pumps, and washing out 
their houses from morning till night; but that is not 
cleanliness: 1 should like to look at their teeth, and 
their linen, and their nails, — there is where an English- 
man looks for cleanliness. 

“The next day we set off in a Dutch steamer to go 
up the Rhine, a large river that winds up ever so far in- 
land. There were some English people and a great 
many foreigners on board. The Frenchman who had 
come by the steamer from London w'as among them; 
and as he had found out that I could talk his language, 
we became friends, and he borrowed some stivers from 
me. 

“At night we got to a place where we were to sleep. 
As soon as the boat arrived, everybody rushed out to 
get a bed, and I among the number; but I was surprised 
to find what beasts I had got amongst: they made no- 
thing of sleeping half a dozen in one room, and some of 
them two in one bed! However, there was no help for 
it; and as I could no more set myself against foreign 
manners than I could prevent my being in Holland, I 
got into a bed in a room where there were seven other 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


95 


beds besides mine, and men inside them. I had no 
sooner taken possession than I perceived the French- 
man looking about for a berth; and as he found them 
all occupied, to my astonishment, I perceived him as 
cool as a cucumber take up my bedclothes and prepare 
to come into bed to me. I immediately cried out, 
‘D — n it! qne voulez-vous V He still persisted, and 
was coming in outright, when I exclaimed, ‘No, this is 
too bad! — C’est Irop mauvaisP — upon which I lifted up 
my leg and kicked him clean out into the middle of the 
room. He came down with a great bounce, and cried 
out some of his odd words which denote rage. The 
noise he made awoke the others, who all poked their 
heads out, and in various languages made their com- 
plaints, until I was obliged to get out and expel the 
Frenchman by force, and locked the door upon him. 
We then all slept till the morning, when we proceeded 
on our journey; but I never saw Mounseer again — and 
he walked off without pacing what he owed me. 

“After this we got to Cologne, the place where the 
Eau de Cologne is made. I asked a fellow who under- 
stood a little French, where the Eau was made (for 
Eau means water), and he pointed to the river. I said, 
‘That will never do — I am not going to believe that all 
that smelling-w'ater made up in long bottles packed in 
boxes, which is sold in England, is nothing but water 
taken out of this river!’ I soon let him know I w r as not 
to be taken in, for who could doubt that the fellow lied? 
Cologne, however, is the very place in which it is made. 

“We then proceeded in a larger and grander vessel, 
full of ladies and gentlemen, and got among mountains 
and old castles. Everybody seemed delighted, and 
called it the finest thing they had ever seen; but, for 
my part, I would rather take a row from London 
Bridge to Richmond, any day of the week, and dine at 
Eel -pie Island, which to my mind is a much neater 
place than anything we saw here. There was no end 
to the castles we passed, not one half as good as Wind- 
sor Castle, and thousands of towns besides. Then we 
saw the place where the wine called ‘old hock’ is made: 
they say it is new here, although we always get it old 
in England. 

“In two days I got to a large city called Francfort, 
full of Jews as it could hold, and, I need not say, called 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


96 

very rich; although, in truth, nothing is rich out of Eng- 
land — not even a Jew. I then took my place in a sort 
of stage-coach, not much better than our fish-carts that 
go between Portsmouth and London; and this, to my 
surprise, was called a n ( Eel-waggon;^ so that they take 
everything from us, even to their fish-carts, although 
these carry men and women passengers. This coach 
was to take me to Prague, the city where the battle was 
fought, and which 1 heard Miss Fanny Allnutt so fre- 
quently play on the pianoforte. I determined when I 
got there to see the field of battle itself, and to find out 
the exact spot where the prisoners groaned, in order to 
tell Miss Fanny all about it when I saw her again; but 
the people were so stupid that they could not under- 
stand me. They always said ( Ya, ya ,’ to all I said; 
but no field of battle did they show me, although I talk- 
ed to them by the hour in French. 

“We set off again; and there was an Englishman in 
the coach, to whom I imparted that I was going to Con- 
stantinople. When he heard that, he behaved with 
great respect, for he immediately began talking very 
learnedly about the Roman Empire, and Gibson’s Climb 
and Fall, and Bajazet, and Timur the Tartar, taking 
me for a traveller going out to write a book. I had 
seen Timur the Tartar at Astley’s, and therefore I let 
him know that I was not ignorant on that head. When 
we came to the stage called Dutchty'od, he took me up 
to one of the windows and pointed out what he called a 
curious inscription, thinking that as I was likely to 
publish it would do for me. Not to undeceive him, I 
did copy if; and sure enough it was curious, for there 
was something about a neat postchase, and horses and 
harness. It was this: 

‘In questa casa travarete 

Toutes es choses que vous souhaitez; 

Vinum bonum, costes, carnes, 

.Neat postchaise, and horse and harness.’ 

My companion called it a polyglot inscription, what- 
ever that may be, and said that in years to come it 
would puzzle the learned, as I am sure it did me. 

“We travelled several days, and at length reached 
the capital of Germany. I never was in such a ra°-e in 
all my life as on the day we reached this place. I^all- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


97 


ed it Vienna, because it is always called so in England 
by all people, and by all the members of parliament 
(and they know better than any one;) but an obstinate 
pig of a German persisted in calling it 'TVeenS How- 
ever, I was determined that nothing should wean me 
out of what was right, so I continued pronouncing it 
‘Vienna.’ 

“I did not stay long in this place, where I under- 
stood nobody, and where nobody understood me; but 
after I had left it, I was very sorry not to have seen a 
thing which my travelling companion in the eel -waggon 
assured me was to be seen here, and that was the famous 
House of Austria. He assured me that it was the old- 
est house certainly in Europe, and perhaps in the world; 
and that the Emperor of Austria lived in it. I think 
that would have been a curiosity worth-looking at — and 
I might have carried away a bit of one of the old bricks, 
to give to Miss Mary, had I thought of it. But now it 
■was too late; and I came to a country where everybody 
talked Latin, down to the postboys. I was longing all 
the way to recollect some of the Latin I had learnt at 
school; but, do what I could, I never could get out more 
than Jls in prsesenti. I did once try to make a hand- 
some housemaid understand that I thought her so; and 
pointing to her face, I said, Fulcher, fair ; pulcherrima, 
fairest: but nothing would do; and I think she said, Tic 
es asinus, and went away laughing. That was the only 
adventure I had in Hungary.” 

It appears, after this, that our traveller, having 
reached the confines of Wallachia, proceeded with too 
much speed through that wild country to have had time 
or opportunity to write down his observations. Mount- 
ed upon a little open cart without springs, peculiar to 
Wallachia, and dragged with unceasing velocity by four 
horses through every impediment of mud and filth, he 
could do little else ihan ejaculate his execrations at the 
country, and compare it with England. We can con- 
ceive no human torture superior to that which a pam- 
pered cockney would suffer in being transferred at once 
from the corner of a comfortable stage-coach to a seat in 
a Wallachian post-cart; and although Mark had expe- 
rienced a tolerable gradation of discomforts ere he got 
thus far, still he could not contain his rage when, hav- 

VOL. II. — 9 


98 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


ing arrived at Bucharest, he found himself bumped into 
a mass of dirt and mud. 

“By the time he reached Constantinople, the youth’who 
started from Lincoln’s-inn so fair and spruce, was trans- 
formed into one so dirty and weather-beaten, that none 
of his acquaintance could have recognised him had they 
seen him thus. His glossy hat was slouched; the colour 
of his coat was undefinable; and his beard and mus- 
taches, which he had tended with increasing anxiety, 
were just sufficiently grown to make them the torment 
of his existence. Experience had not yet taught him 
that the manners and customs of nations must ever dif- 
fer according to their various wants and necessities; for, 
comparing what he saw to what he had left in England, 
he never could understand why the Turks, possessing 
the most beautiful empire in the world, with every local 
advantage, should still have no other mode of travelling 
than on horseback, — should sit cross-legged, when they 
might sit on chairs, — should eat with their fingers, 
when knives and forks are to be had, — and should, in 
short, be in almost every respect the very reverse of 
what mankind are in England. In truth, Mark, at 
Constantinople, standing on the quay at Tophana, 
where he had landed, was as much a cockney as when 
he embarked in the steamer for Rotterdam. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Mark Woodcock and Peregrine Oldbourn. — Contrast be- 
tween a cockney and an antiquary. 

In the mean while, Peregrine Oldbourn, after many 
deviations from the straight road, successfully made 
his way from Persepolis, where we last left him, to 
Constantinople. He might perhaps have ended his 
days in the former place from sheer absence of mind, 
entirely wrapt up in the absorbing discovery which he 
had made, had not his long stay there been remarked 
by the authorities, who, supposing he was seeking those 
treasures which fame reports to be there extant, had 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


99 


sent him a message to quit. He therefore took his de- 
parture, but came to another full stop at the ruins of 
the ancient Pasargarda, where his enthusiasm again 
broke out in the contemplation of what he could not 
doubt to be the tomb of Cyrus. Full of the recollec- 
tions of the grandeur and achievements of that cele- 
brated personage, he performed many extraordinary 
feats at his shrine; he passed one whole night extended 
in the identical narrow chamber where he supposed his 
hero’s ashes to have once reposed; and conceiving him- 
self to be the actual Cyrus, he did nothing but exclaim 
as he lay on his back, “0 mortals! I am Cyrus, son of 
Cambyses, founder of the Persian monarchy and sove- 
reign of Asia: grudge me not therefore this monument!” 
He walked round and round the tomb with all the 
humility and devotion of a pilgrim, and behaved with 
such grave reverence, that the natives, taking him for 
an English dervish travelling with the intention of ful- 
filling some penitential vow, treated him with high con- 
sideration. 

He then proceeded to Ispahan, where he tarried but 
a short time, because it offered him but little antiqua- 
rian attraction, and thence to Teheran, where he passed 
several days in tracing the ruins of the ancient Rages, 
rendered famous in Scripture History by the history of 
Tobit. From thence he sought the remains of Ecbatana, 
in the modern city of Hamadan; and travelling north- 
wards, made an attempt to ascend the Mountain of 
Ararat. Encountering sundry dangers in passing the 
frontier from Persia to Turkey, he continued his re- 
searches right and left through the ancient Pontus, 
Galatia, and Bithynia, until at length he reached Con- 
stantinople in safety. 

There he first learnt the death of his brother, com- 
municated by a letter from Mr. Fairfax; who at the 
same time making him acquainted with the provisions 
of the will, announced the approaching arrival of a mes- 
senger despatched to seek him wherever he might be, 
in order that no impediment should be cast in the way 
of fulfilling those provisions. Sincerely attached to his 
brother, he mourned his loss with a true and poignant 
grief, without reflecting upon the conditions imposed 
upon him ere he became possessor of his fortune. He 
deferred making any plan as to his return to England 


100 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


until the arrival of the promised messenger; and deter- 
mined to await him at Smyrna in preference to Con- 
stantinople, for he wished to visit the plains of Troy 
ere he quitted Asia; and thus, as he conceived, he 
would honour the memory of his departed brother, by 
examining on the spot the merit of those arguments 
which he had put forth in his celebrated essay touching 
the history of the siege. 

When Mark Woodcock reached Constantinople, his 
first step was to ascertain where the new baronet was 
to be found; and, to his dismay, he heard that he must 
still travel on some two or three hundred miles. Sir 
Peregine had omitted to do that which every man of 
reflection would have done; — that is, to have left direc- 
tions what course the messenger was to pursue, and ap- 
pointed him a rendezvous at some specified time and 
place. 

The bewildered Londoner, in the new and curious 
world into which he had fallen, could scarcely recover 
his astonishment at all he saw, nor his regret at the ne- 
cessity which impelled him still to travel onwards. Of 
Symrna he had scarcely heard, excepting as a cogno- 
men to figs; and from what he had already seen of tra- 
velling in Turkey, he was not ambitious of extending 
his geographical knowledge in that country. Faithful, 
however, to the trust reposed in him, and anxious to 
accomplish the object of his mission with as little delay 
as possible, he would not allow himself to tarry at Con- 
stantinople to satisfy his curiosity, but determined at 
once to proceed. 

The little that he did see of the great Mahomedan 
capital gave him but little desire to inspect more; for 
in walking through the great bazaar, to his surprise he 
first saw a man with his ear nailed to his own door, 
composedly smoking his pipe, who, upon inquiry, he 
found was a baker undergoing punishment for using 
false weights. Walking still further on, upon looking 
up, his face had nearly struck against the feet of a Jew 
hung up under his own shed; and again, at the meeting 
of four streets, he discovered a dead body recently de- 
capitated, and the head, by way of honour, placed under 
the arm, denoting a true believer, in contradistinction 
to that of an infidel, who would have had it placed be- 
tween the legs. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


101 

Mark was perfectly horrified at what he saw, and 
anxiously inquired if these were common practices. He 
was informed that the grand vizier had just been making 
his rounds — for being new in office, he was determined 
thus to establish his authority, showing the inhabitants 
how well he could make them keep the peace. “Cut- 
ting off their heads ! — that is one way of making them 
keep the peace, however!” exclaimed Mark. 

Upon passing the royal arsenal in front of Tophana 
in a boat, suddenly, without the smallest notice being 
given, several loaded guns were fired exactly in the di- 
rection in which he was proceeding; and the balls fell 
all around, and one so near his boat, that the spray 
overwhelmed him. 

“Holloa!” cried Mark, and looked frightened and 
alarmed. 

(i Bir cheyyok ! — it is nothing,” said his grey -bearded 
boatman. “ Kismet — fate.” 

Mark afterwards learnt that the Turkish engineers 
were proving some new guns. His horror increased 
every moment that he spent at Constantinople; and 
when it is considered how strong were his national pre- 
judices and how contracted the span of his mind, one 
need not be surprised at it. Little did he know of 
governments beyond his own — little did he know of 
their theory, less still of their practice. He had wit- 
nessed enough tyranny in one day at Constantinople to 
have formed the foundation of a dozen revolutions in 
England. Here he saw men hung about and killed like 
mad dogs, nailed to door-posts, and fired at without a 
w r arning; and he wondered that the whole country did 
not rise up in a mass to resent such wickedness. No 
coroner’s inquest, no indictments, no judge, no jury! — 
without such things, he thought within himself, how can 
a country exist? “Well,” he said, “if I ever live to get 
back to England, I think I’ll make them stare a bit in 
Lincoln’s-inn.” 

He proceeded at once to the consul, and entreated 
him to forward his departure to Symrna as soon as pos- 
sible, asserting that he would not live in such a coun- 
try an hour longer than he could help, were he pro- 
mised to be created lord chancellor the moment he had 
left it. 

“My dear sir,” said the consul, “if summary justice 
9 * 


102 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


were not exhibited here, we should not be able to sleep 
secure in our beds. It is quite necessary to kill a few, 
in order to keep the rest quiet.” 

“They are not worthy to live,” said Mark, “if they 
won’t stick up for their rights.” 

“A Turk has no rights,” said the consul, “but what 
the sultan chooses to give him.” 

‘‘Then I would hang the sultan,” said Mark. “I 
should like to see him before a grand jury for Middle- 
sex! — they would find a true bill against him as sure as 
fate; and then I should like to know how he would 
look! Why, we should hang him up as round as a 
hoop before he could put in a word for himself!” 

Being provided with a Turkish Tartar to accompany 
him, Mark crossed the Sea of Marmora in a five-oared 
boat, and landed at Moalitch, where he procured post- 
horses and proceeded to Smyrna by the usual route. He 
picked up a few words of Turkish on the road, — learnt 
to drink his thimbleful of coffee without sugar, to smoke 
through a cherry-stick pipe, and to eat with his fingers. 
For each of these feats he promised himself to gain 
much credit when he related them to his friends in 
Lincoln’s-inn. Often, too, did he cast his thoughts 
upon the Allnutts, and particularly on Mary, enjoying 
by anticipation all the wonder he should excite in their 
breasts by the description he would give of his travels. 

Having rested himselfin a coffee-house for a few hours 
in the city of Magnesia, he then crossed the rugged pass 
over Mount Sipylus, and at length descended into the 
beautiful plain of Smyrna, terminated by the sea and its 
magnificent harbour, and surrounded by mountains and 
slopes at once verdant and sublime. He rubbed his 
hands in ecstasy on seeing a country which had the ap- 
pearance of civilization, and which, as he approached 
the city, held out the promise of a good dinner, (of which 
he was greatly in want,) preparatory to accomplishing 
the object of his journey; for he hoped to see Sir Pere- 
grine on that very evening. 

He passed long strings of camels laden with the dif- 
ferent produce of Asia Minor, going to the great mart; 
and as he remarked and smiled at their slow pace, he 
chuckled within himself when he reflected upon the 
speed with which things were carried on in his own 
country. How he yearned for the top of a stage-coach ! 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


103 

— how he groaned for the velocity of steam ! At length, 
after being buffeted about on his jaded post-horse in the 
crowded streets, first struck ' by the side of a bale of 
cotton, then knocked back by a box of figs, he succeeded 
in entering the long court-yard of the hotel. Here he 
dismounted, and being received by a Greek waiter who 
spoke a few words of every living language, and per- 
haps thoroughly understood none, he was delighted to 
find that in that very house lived the object of his long 
search — Sir Peregrine Oldbourn. 

Forgetting the good dinner which he had promised 
himself to eat, he at once desired to be introduced into 
his presence; which was done forthwith — and perhaps 
on the face of the globe two such originals both in char- 
acter and appearance never stood erect before each 
other. Sir Peregrine eyed Mark from head to foot, 
whilst Mark did the same to Sir Peregrine. The former, 
a tall lank figure, with swarthy face and long perpen- 
dicular features, was accoutred in fragments of dress 
selected from each country through which he had 
travelled. Turkey furnished him with a red cloth cap; 
Persia, with a pair of crimson silk trousers of the most 
ample dimensions. He wore an English swallow-tailed 
coat, and waiscoat; and his feet were shod with the high 
heeled green slippers of the court of Teheran. Crape 
was wound round his cap; and his coat was black, for 
he was in mourning. 

Mark, too, had been obliged to borrow from Asia to 
replace that which he had worn-out in Europe; for over 
his trousers he wore a pair of crimson Morocco boots 
as large as buckets; he had bought a party-coloured 
cloak which covered him with many folds; and his coat 
being worn-out, he had accoutred himself in his dress- 
ing-gown. His naturally fair face had been baked by 
the joint action of the sun and wind into a compound of 
villanous colours; and his beard growing therefrom did 
not add much to his beauty. Mark looked upon Sir 
Peregrine as the greatest curiosity he had seen since he 
left England; whilst Sir Peregrine thought that his 
countrymen must have altered much since his absence 
from home, if they resembled at all the one who now 
stood before him. 

Mark having delivered his letter of introduction and 
the several despatches of which he was the bearer, Sir 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


104 

Peregrine in a courteous and friendly manner, invited 
him to refresh himself by shaking off the dust of his 
journey, and then to join him at dinner, when they 
w ould talk over the object of his mission. Mark joy- 
fully obeyed this summons, but not before he had cast 
an eye over the room which the baronet then inhabited. 
It was crowded with an immense variety of things of 
which Mark knew neither the use nor the value. Frag- 
ments of marble covered with Greek inscriptions, pieces 
of broken statues, ancient bricks, bronzes, old coins, 
books, drawings, various sorts of arms, — in short, the 
numerous articles which a man of learning and research 
is apt to collect in furtherance of his pursuits, were all 
heaped together, without order or discrimination, but 
quite in keeping, as a painter would say, with the ap- 
pearance and character of their owner. Mark ponder- 
ed over these things in his mind, wondering what could 
be the use of so much rubbish, as he was pleased to call 
it: but whilst he pondered, he hastened to reappear, 
more to answer the calls of hunger than to associate 
with his new acquaintance. 

After they had sat and eaten, Sir Peregrine said r 
“So I perceive, Mr. Woodcock, by Mr. Fairfax’s letter, 
that the principal object of your journey is to settle 
upon the best mode of putting my lamented brother’s 
will into execution; — I mean that part of it which re- 
lates to my marrying within a certain time. Six months, 
I think, is the term specified.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Mark; — “that is, if you do not hap- 
pen to be married already.” 

“I married!” exclaimed Sir Peregrine, starting from 
his chair; “Heaven forbid! Why, you do not suppose 
that I would marry a Mussulman!” 

“No, Sir Peregrine, — no,” said Mark; “I could not 
think that: but I do not see why you should not have 
married a Mussul -woman or a Mussul-girl.” 

“I am not mad enough to have done that, and it can 
never be,” said Sir Peregrine, smiling, “because by my 
brother’s will I am obliged to marry an Englishwoman 
of good family; therefore to marry an Asiatic is out of 
the question. But you must allow me to put you right 
upon the word ‘Mussulman,’ which, I perceive, like 
many of your countrymen, you have adopted as an 
English word: it is pure Arabic, and is applied to men 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


105 


and women indiscriminately, to denote those of the true 
faith, or the followers of Mahomed. But I fear I am 
presumptuous in saying so much, — you perhaps may 
have acquired a knowledge of some of the Oriental 
tongues yourself?” 

“No, sir, no,” said Mark, not in the least abashed; 
“1 talk no Oriental tongue but French: I have picked 
up a few words of the Turkish, — -just enough to say, 
‘How d’ye do?’ and so forth.” 

“And pray, what do you think of the Turkish lan- 
guage?” said the baronet. “It^nust be owned, its his- 
tory is interesting, for it has travelled thus far even 
from the confines of China: it is the original Tartar 
language, although much intermixed with the Arabic 
and the Persic. What may you think of it? — I should 
like to know your opinion.” 

Mark summoned up a look of wisdom, and, after 
some thought, said, “Why, Sir Peregrine, I think it is 
a very fair language — that’s my opinion of it.” 

“Fair?” said the baronet; “ah, that is original ! I have 
heard of a language being copious, energetic, and ex- 
pressive; but I never heard of a fair language.” 

“I think it fair in this manner,” said Mark: “When 
I meet a man, he says to m & Hush bull-dog ; and then, 
as a matter of course, T answer, Hush gelding. Now, 
if he calls me a bull-dog, it is but fair that I should call 
him a gelding — and that is what I call a fair lan- 
guage.”* 

“Very good, very good,” said Sir Peregrine, amaz- 
ingly tickled by this explanation, — “I think you have 
made out your position perfectly;” an acquiescence 
which flattered Mark’s vanity not a little, whilst his 
observations, in truth, afforded the baronet an insight 
into the capacity of his new acquaintance. Upon mat- 
ters of business he found him, however, quick of appre- 
hension, and worthy of his confidence; whilst Mark, 
after a conversation which lasted till bed-time, retired 
fully persuaded how impossible it would be to put into 
execution one principal point of his instructions; which 
was, to persuade the baronet to accompany him without 
delay to England. 

* In truth, the usual mode of greeting among Turks is, Hosh 
buldook — well met; and Hosh geldin — well come. 


106 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The antiquary makes a confidant of the attorney's clerk . 

Sir Peregrine was one of those absent men, whose 
mind would grapple with a subject with acuteness and 
perseverance when brought immediately before him; but 
as soon as that subject was exhausted would relapse 
into the absorption of his own favourite pursuit. Hav- 
ing fully discussed the subject of Mark’s mission, he 
for that night dismissed it from his mind ; and on the 
following morning, when they met, he almost seemed 
to have forgotten the motive for his coming. 

Too full of his own subject to be correct in names, 
he thus addressed Mark: — “I have a question to ask 
you, Mr. Cockwood, which perhaps you can answer.” 

“My name is Woodcock,” said Mark, looking much 
surprised. 

“True, sure,” said the other; “I beg your pardon: 
but pray, Mr. Woodcock, in your journey from Con- 
stantinople, I think you came by Magnesia?” 

“Did I?” said Mark. “I don’t know the names of 
the odd places.” 

“But you know that there are two Magnesias?” said 
the baronet. 

“Are there?” said Mark; “that may be, but I only 
know of one — the best, and that is Henry’s calcined .” 

“I mean the city,” said Peregrine, smiling, — “the 
city you passed on the other side of yonder mountain. 
That Magnesia is called ad Sypilum , to distinguish it 
from the other farther to the west, which is called ad 
Meandrum. Now you know it is supposed that the 
famous murder of Niobe’s children was committed near 
the road on which you travelled: did you remark any- 
thing?” 

“Murder, sir!” said Mark. “You may be sure that 
is as great a lie as ever was uttered. The road was as 
safe and as quiet when I passed it, as any part of the 
road between London and Brighton.” 

“You mistake me,” said the baronet: “I do not 
mean what has happened at the present day — I mean 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


107 

the murder of Niobe’s children by Apollo, as described 
in Ovid. You are acquainted with the famous lines, 
beginning Lydia tota f remit, and so on: well, it is sup- 
posed the whole transaction took place near Magnesia, 
and that Niobe’s statue, — you know she was turned in- 
to a statue — you remember the famous description, 

‘Nullos movet aura capillos, 

In vultu color est sine sanguine; lumina mcestis 
Stant immota genis: nihil est in imagine vivi,’ 

and so on; — well, her statue is said to be seen orrthe 
summit of a hill, represented by a large stone, in the 
form of a weeping woman. Now, did you see such a 
stone?” 

“I saw many large stones,” said Mark; “but I did 
not see that one, — of that I am quite positive. You 
may be certain it is all a hoax, Sir Peregrine: you 
know those old writers were such liars, nobody believes 
anything about them now; — nobody believes anything 
about Jupiter, or Juno, or the Elgin Marbles, or any of 
that sort of trash, now-a-days.” 

The baronet, finding that he could elicit no infor- 
mation from Mark upon the researches which now par- 
ticularly filled his mind, reverted to the subject which 
he fondly hoped would class his name among' the cele- 
brated travellers of the day. “You had no doubt heard 
of my discovery before you left England?” he said with 
confidence. 

“I know of no discovery,” said Mark with hesita- 
tion, “unless it be the North Pole. Did you discover 
that too? Every body seems to have discovered that !” 

“No!” said the baronet with some little pique of ex- 
pression, — “No, I have not been northward — I have 
only travelled in the South*” 

“Well, then, perhaps it was the South Pole,” said 
Mark: “I know there are two poles — I know that 
something was discovered.” 

“I have seen nothing of the poles, said the other: “I 
mean my discovery relative to the Temple of Solo- 
mon.” 

“No,” said Mark, “I have heard nothing about that.” 

“That is extraordinary,” said Sir Peregrine, “be- 
cause I look upon it as one of the greatest discoveries 
made during this century; for if so, we have acquired 
the true and indisputable type of all church architec- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


108 

ture. Do not you suppose now, Mr. Woodcock,” ad- 
dressing Mark with increasing energy, “that the model 
and style of building of the Temple of Solomon having 
been once ascertained, every new church in England, — 
ay, throughout Christendom, — will be erected upon 
that model?” 

“I hope you will arrive in time in England,” said 
Mark, always keeping an eye to the object of his mis- 
sion, “to stop the building" of Marybone Church, and 
the new one at Brighton.” 

“I hope I may,” said the enthusiast; “I am quite 
sure that the arguments which I have brought forward, 
and which are given in full detail in that manuscript,” 
pointing to a pile of closely-written paper, “are quite 
unanswerable: for, Mr. Woodcock, between you and 
me,- — and I don’t wish this to go further, — I have ac- 
quired such a mass of evidence in support of my case, 
that I am quite certain to carry it in spite of all oppo- 
sition.” 

“Juries are ticklish things now-a-days,” said Mark; 
“they require a monstrous deal of evidence before they 
will give a verdict.” 

“I can prove,” said the eager baronet, not heeding 
Mark’s observation, — “I can prove that the Darius 
Hystaspes of Grecian history and the Darab of the Per- 
sians are one and the same person; and that Darab and 
Jemsheed, who is said to be the original founder of Per- 
sepolis, are frequently identified; and therefore the ob- 
jection which may be alleged, — namely, that the present 
ruins being called in the Persic, Taklit Jemsheed , or 
the throne of Jemsheed, must necessarily have been 
built by that king, Palls to the ground. I think I have 
fully proved that.” 

“I think you have,” said Mark, totally unmoved. 

“I can also prove,” said the other, “that the Jews 
and Persians of those days had great intercourse; and 
that Jewish influence being predominant at the court of 
Darius Hystaspes, it is fair to suppose, that monarch 
having ordered the continuation of the building of their 
temple, might have also commanded a palace or a tem- 
ple of the same style and character to be built for him- 
self; and thence the great structure of Persepolis, of 
which we see the remains at the present day. I can 
prove that beyond all contradiction.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 109 

“Can you indeed!” said Mark, looking more solid 
than before. 

“1 can prove, too, that it does not in the least sig- 
nify whether Herodotus makes mention of the Jews or 
not, (although 1 think he does by what he says of cir- 
cumcision,) because as they were but a very small tribe 
compared to the vast empire over which Darius reigned, 
they might and did very naturally remain unnoticed 
by the historian, in the same manner that one of the 
present day, writing the history of England and its 
possessions, would most likely make no mention of some 
obscure tribe in India or Africa. I can prove that.” 

“When will he have proved everything?” said Mark 
in low accents to himself, beginning to get impatient at 
this demand upon his attention. 

“Now, if you will promise to say nothing to any one, 
— mind, I say to no one, be he who lit may,” said Sir 
Peregrine with a cautious and beseeching look, — “I 
will show you something which I have never yet shown 
to mortal man. — Will you promise? — it will prove all 
I have said.” 

“Oh yes, I promise,” said Mark, glad to have come 
to an end of proving. 

“Well, then, here,” said Sir Peregrine, who with 
great caution unlocked a drawer in his writing-desk, 
from which he took out a small box, upon opening which 
he drew forth some cotton, and out of the cotton he pro- 
duced a small brass nail, — “here lies the proof — the 
proof of all I have said!” 

“Is it indeed !” said Mark: “a little goes a great way 
here, if that’s all.” 

“Now, do you see this brass nail?” said the anti- 
quary. “W$J1; this nail, such as you see it, is the 
work of the ancient Persians, or of Jewish workmen 
working for the Persian king. It was extracted from 
a stone gateway at Persepolis, and taken from the wig 
of a sculptured figure. Now, this nail was used to 
fasten plates of gold on the very marble, and, if I mis- 
take not, on the very wig; and does not this prove all 
that I wish to explain? First, it proves that Jews and 
Persians were much identified in manners and customs. 
Here is a positive proof that the Persians wore their 
hair full and curling as an ornament: and do not we 
read in Jewish history that the Jews preserved their 

VOL. ii. — 10 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


110 

hair, — that is, it was allowed to grow as an ornament, 
— and as proved by its weight, it must have grown as 
thick and curly as the wigs we see sculptured on the 
marbles of Persepolis. In the second place, it proves 
that the walls and sculptures of Persepolis were over- 
laid with gold, — a circumstance repeatedly mentioned 
as existing in the Temple of Solomon; and therefore it 
makes it clear in that respect the two buildings were 
exactly similar. I only ask you, now, would you re- 
quire anything more?’ 9 

“No, I require nothing more,” said Mark. 

“I put it to you as an honest man — as a man of can- 
dour, as a man of understanding,” said the baronet, 
highly excited by his subject, “whether you would re- 
quire any thing more than this nail — this small, though 
highly valuable nail — to be convinced that the Temple 
of Solomon was the prototype of the Palace of Darius 
at Persepolis?” 

Mark felt himself duly exalted by such a flattering 
appeal, and calling up a corresponding look of dignity, 
he allowed that the nail had done all that was requir- 
ed, and gave his testimony in favour of the baronet’s 
theory; but, never forgetting the object of his journey, 
he said, “Surely you ought not to lose a moment in re- 
turning to England, in order to publish to the world 
the fruits of your discovery. Why, there is the Penny 
Magazine would print everything that you have said 
without charging you a farthing; although I can’t say 
as much for the other newspapers.” 

This observation produced the effect of turning Sir 
Peregrine’s thoughts from his favourite theory and fix- 
ing them upon his future plans. He then informed 
Mark, that according to his brother’s will he had at least 
five months left for his homeward journey, he had de- 
termined to employ that time in making certain re- 
searches in the Archipelago, and at Athens; and that 
he then intended to charter a small brig, which would 
convey himself and his collections by sea to England. 
With respect to the wife, he declared that he intended 
to leave that part of the business entirely in the hands 
of Mr. Fairfax, who would be empowered to procure 
for him a person corresponding in every respect to the 
provisions of the will, who must be ready to receive 
and be united to him the moment he arrived in London. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Ill 


When Mark heard this explanation of the baronet’s 
intention, his first impulse was to shake his head and 
doubt; for he had seen enough of him to remain satis- 
fied that left to himself, and particularly if his mind 
was set upon some new discovery, he would forget all 
time and space, all obligations to fulfil his brother’s 
wishes, and ultimately lose that fortune of which he 
was intended to be the possessor. But, pondering deep- 
er, suddenly a bright thought flashed across his mind. 
He conceived he might be the means of making the for- 
tune of his friend Mary Allnutt, and rescuing her uncle 
and aunts from poverty; his heart beat with joyful anti- 
cipation at such a prospect. She, in fact, answered in 
every respect to the person described in the will; for 
she was at once healthy, of good conduct, and of good 
family. Mark, with this benevolent intention, — never 
having himself ventured to aspire to her favour, although 
his inordinate vanity had frequently led him to believe 
that he had made a lodgment in her affections, — could 
scarcely prevent himself from mentioning her name and 
perfections to his master’s client. 

“I think that may be done,” he said to Sir Peregrine, 
“for we see such things managed every day. Mr. Fair- 
fax has only to put an advertisement in all the princi- 
pal newspapers, headed ‘Matrimony,’ and wives will 
spring up as thick as mushrooms. I know a man who 
was married in that way: he advertised, saw, accepted, 
went to church, and was married, and all within a week. 
Now you know that is doing a great deal, — particularly 
when a fortune is dependent upon despatch, as it is in 
your case. Egad ! London is the place after all !” 

“I am not very curious in wives,” said the baronet, 
without any affectation of indifference: “all I want is a 
good legal wife: let her come within the description 
given in the will, and I require no more.” 

Mark could not refrain turning up his eyes with as- 
tonishment at his apathy and indifference; but when he 
considered that if once Sir Peregrine became acquainted 
with Mary’s beauty and perfections, such feelings would 
soon give place to affection; and being in the main an 
amiable and well disposed man, his resolution was fixed 
to propose her to Mr. Fairfax as the baronet’s future 
wife, never once supposing it possible that she might 
herself repel such good fortune. 


112 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Sir Peregrine, having signed and executed all the 
proper deeds brought by Mark, as well as a power of 
attorney empowering Mr. Fairfax to act for him in all 
that regarded the will, began to make preparations for 
his intended voyage, chartering a ship, loading there- 
upon his collection of antiquities, and making arrange- 
ments for receiving others. Mark had not been un- 
mindful of his friends in England: he bought sundry 
boxes of figs, of which he requested Sir Peregrine 
would have the goodness to take charge, at the same 
time pointing out one direction thereupon affixed as par- 
ticularly deserving of his care. That direction was to 
“Miss Mary Allnutt;’’ and when he said this, he look- 
ed narrowly into the baronet’s face to discover per- 
chance whether it might not indicate by look or by suf- 
fusion that he had awakened some sympathetic feeling; 
— but no, the long antique face said nothing, and Mark’s 
heart smote him, lest in giving him to Mary as a hus- 
band, she might not have towed a mummy. 

We must now leave these two worthies "to shape their 
different courses; — the baronet, to embark, more full of 
the ancient dead and their works than of the modern 
living and his own obligations; whilst Mark Woodcock, 
bestrode his post-horse, and anticipated at every step 
the happiness of once again seeing his friends in Eng- 
land, and returning to the joys of Lincoln’s-inn. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Edward Manby^s adventures. 

The last we heard of Edward Manby was through a 
letter written to Uncle Abel from Liverpool, giving 
some account of Major Allnutt, received from the mas- 
ter of a merchantman just arrived from Vera Cruz. 
Since the reception of that letter no news had been re- 
ceived of him, to the astonishment of Abel and his sis- 
ters, and to the dismay and sorrow of Mary. It will 
now be our endeavour to give the reason for this silence. 

When Edward was called away from London by his 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


113 


uncle the brewer at Liverpool, instead of meeting with 
cheerful faces and looks of prosperity, it was gradually 
disclosed to him that his uncle’s affairs were in a bad 
way, and that he was threatened with bankruptcy: 
losses which he could not forsee had overwhelmed him, 
and instead of offering his nephew a share in the con- 
cerns of his house, he was obliged to recommend him 
to seek his fortune in the best manner he could. 

At the time Edward wrote the abovementioned letter 
to Abel, he was not fully aware of the complete ruin 
w r hich awaited his uncle; although, by the hint he then 
threw out, it was evident that all was not right. "When 
afterwards made acquainted with the whole truth, he 
was overwhelmed with disappointment, because, in ad- 
dition to his grief for his uncle’s misfortune, he felt how 
abortive were his hopes of shortly being united to 
Mary. Unwilling that she should partake of this afflic- 
tion at a time when she and her relations required every 
support, he remained some time without writing. He 
was soon roused from his despondent state by hearing 
from the same master of the merchantman that a vessel 
was on the point of departure for Mexico, and that its 
owner being a friend, he would not only be enabled to 
give him a passage at a cheap rate, but procure him an 
excellent situation with one of the mining companies, 
where young men of activity and intelligence were 
much in request. 

Edward had often thought how desirable it would be 
for his friends the Allnutts, and particularly for that 
one object of his thoughts, the lovely Mary, could her 
father be restored to them. By his activity and know- 
ledge of the world, he would be able to extricate them 
from their difficulties, which at present appeared hope- 
less. He had often before turned over in his mind the 
possibility that he might himself become the means of 
producing this event, and had determined, should an 
opportunity offer, he would proceed to Mexico, in order 
to lay the state of his family before Major Allnutt, and 
thus induce him to return to England. He might thus 
also be enabled (and perhaps this was his real motive) 
to render the Major favourable to his passion for his 
daughter, and his consent being secured for their union, 
he felt that every difficulty would be removed. He 
therefore greeted with delight the offer made to him, 
10 * 


114 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


and did not lose a moment in consulting with his uncle 
upon its practicability. Of course his uncle encouraged 
his wishes, — for, alas! he had nothing better to offer; 
and thus, before another day passed over his head, he 
found himself plunged in all the bustle and hurry of in- 
stant departure. The vessel was hauled out and lying 
at single anchor, and he had not a moment to lose. He 
sat up all night (for she was to sail in the morning) wri- 
ting a full account of himself and his future plans to his 
friend Abel. With that stream of religious hope in a 
good providence which ever flowed through his heart, 
every expression in his letter breathed resignation and 
cheerfulness. Whilst he described the ruin which had 
overtaken his uncle, and consequently the destruction 
of his own immediate prospects, he dwelt upon the new 
road of advancement which had opened to him. He 
trusted in a few years to realise a small independence; 
and if so, he entreated that he might be ever remember- 
ed as the unalterable friend of the family, and conse- 
quently that his means might be looked upon as theirs.. 

Having finished his letter, there was only one thing 
left to do, and that admitted of a question; — should he 
write to Mary and persuade her to inform her relations 
of their mutual attachment? He felt that no mystery 
ought to exist, but still the same delicacy which had op- 
posed his making the disclosure existed now as before. 
He allowed that point to remain unsettled, determining 
to put the finishing stroke to his letter on board the 
ship on the following morning. With this resolution 
he lay down, hoping to snatch a few hours of sleep; but 
the painful emotions which engaged his mind at a mo- 
ment so full of anticipation of the future, prevented all 
rest, and he rose early only to bid a hasty farewell to 
his uncle and his friends, and to get on board with the 
utmost haste. 

The morning was lowering and tempestuous — the 
sails were already shivering in the wind, and there was 
every symptom of immediate departure. Edward’s ex- 
perience in naval matters was small, and he was not 
aware how nearly the anchor was about being tripped 
when he stepped on board. He desired the boatman 
who had conveyed him from the shore to wait a few mi- 
nutes until he should give him a letter, and went straight 
into the cabin to close that began to Abel. With pen 
in hand and paper before him, the image of his beloved 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


115 


came vividly before his imagination. Overpowered by 
his feelings, full of the miseries of separation, he sought 
the only relief he could obtain, and determined to pour 
out his whole heart to her whom he cherished more than 
life. He wrote as follows: 

“I am leaving you, and that by my own act, God 
alone knows for how long. His holy will be done! 
and in his hands I deliver up my future fate; but 
if I do not relieve my feelings by writing to you, I 
fear that my heart will sink with utter despondency, 
and that I shall remain totally unfit for the task I have 
imposed upon myself. I leave you, Mary, with my 
heart so entirely absorbed by your image — with every 
feeling so full of the most devoted love, that were not 
my duties paramount to every consideration, I would 
return to you and never more be separated from the 
spot which you inhabit. But I am resolved to make 
myself worthy of you, that I may win your constancy 
by the excess of my devotion. I have written to your 
uncle the motives which have impelled me to take this 
step. Oh, may you soon see your father! I cannot write 
much, for we are about to sail; but I would whisper to 
you one of the principal wishes of my heart, and say, 
do not any longer keep our secret from your relations, 
for we must have no secrets for them. You will thus 
be protected from the addresses of others, and enjoy 
the satisfaction of relieving yourself from all mystery. 
Adieu! I fear the anchor is up; I hear the vessel rush- 
ing through the sea. Dearest Mary, my adored — my 
beloved, adieu! Even to the world’s end, and for ever, 
your faithful 

“Edward.” 

He folded up his letter in all haste, and then ran up 
on deck to deliver it to the boatman: but what was his 
dismay, when there, to see the boat already at a con- 
siderable distance, and the boatman rowing away appa- 
rently without concern! His first impulse was to roar 
out to the man with his utmost might to come back, and 
his next to entreat the captain to stop the speed of his 
ship. The wind blowing violently — the boatman heard 
not his voice. The captain said that it was as much as 
his ship and his situation were worth to back his top- 


116 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


sails in such a sea, for now that it was coining on to 
blow, it was necessary to make all sail from the land: 
he therefore continued his course. Edward positively 
wrung his hands in despair: the whole mischief which 
this circumstance would produce started before his eyes 
at once; and he foresaw that his friends would impute 
to him negligence and ingratitude, whilst his adored 
Mary would weep over his inconstancy. He was a 
little appeased when the captain assured him that they 
could not fail to fall in with some vessel homeward- 
bound which would take charge of his letter, and he 
forthwith began to endite another in order to explain 
away the delay and disaster which had attended the 
first; but the surprise and indignation which he felt 
would naturally be produced by his silence haunted 
him and did not allow him a moment’s repose. 

After he had become sufficiently accustomed to ship- 
board to master the inevitable sea-sickness, day after 
day did he sit on deck anticipating the appearance of 
the much-desired vessel; but, as if it were intended 
that his patience should be tried to the utmost, he was 
daily disappointed. Every one on board excepting 
himself seemed satisfied; for the voyage had hitherto 
been uncommonly prosperous. The same favourable 
breeze which filled their sails on leaving Liverpool ac- 
companied them across the Atlantic; and the captain 
and his crew, (for sailors are apt to be superstitious,) 
looking upon Edward as the fortunate one who had 
brought good luck, did not cease hoping that they might 
not meet the anticipated vessel, lest such an event 
should bring on a change. The favourable wind actu- 
ally carried them onwards between Antigua and Gua- 
daloupe, right through the Caribbean Sea, and to the 
northward of Jamaica, where it ran them into a calm 
not far from the Isla de Pinos, at the west end of Cuba. 

It was here that Edward, who expected nothing but 
grateful thanks from the captain for his extraordinary 
passage, was surprised to hear the following exclama- 
tion: “D — n it! I would rather give fifty pounds out 
of my own pocket than this should have happened. This 
is the very place where poor Jack Hawlaway and all 
his crew met their death from those infernal Cuba 
pirates — the whole sea swarms with them.” Then 
lifting up his voice, he roared out to the man at the 


ABEL ALLNTJTT. 


nr 


mast-head, “Keep a good look-out, and let us know 
when you see anything.” All he got for answer was 
a drowsy “Ay, ay, sir;” whilst the captain’s words 
struck dismay in the hearts of all who heard him. Ed- 
ward eagerly inquired into the meaning of what he had 
heard, when the captain disclosed such a succession of 
horrors, in describing the lives and actions of pirates, 
that he succeeded in making Edward’s blood run cold 
with horror at the atrocities described. First was an 
account of the Rob Roy from Glasgow, that had been 
plundered, her whole crew murdered, and the captain 
made to walk the plank; then followed a detailed story 
of what happened to the small American schooner, the 
Margaret, whose captain having valiantly attempted 
her defence, — for she was a beautiful craft, though ex- 
tremely small, — the wretches had tarred and feathered 
him, and then, with savage jeers, informed him they 
would teach him the art of flying, and straightway 
threw him from the yard-arm into the sea. Much was 
said of a warm, well-built craft called the Harriet, 
laden with gunpowder, bound for Vera Cruz, which 
having plundered, the wretches had managed to blow 
up, with all on board; whilst there was no end to the 
histories of the slave-trade and its horrors, and the 
thousand evils with which it was attended. 

After hearing these and such like stories, Edward 
was charmed to hear the captain give orders to make 
preparations in case of attack; all the firearms were in 
readiness, the guns shotted, the boarding-netting hoist- 
ed, and the cutlasses distributed. The number of sea- 
men on board consisted of fourteen, including the cap- 
tain, besides Edward Manby. They were all strong, 
able-bodied men, who did not give way to gasconading 
or bravado — for a thorough English sailor is seldom a 
boaster — but they seemed determined to do their duty 
to the utmost. 

As the day drew to a close, the vigilance on board 
became the greater; for the first shades of night is the 
hour at which the sea marauder is most apt to be on 
the alert for prey. The eyes of all were directed to 
the verge of the horizon; and the captain was straining 
his sight through his spying-glass, when the man at the 
mast-head was heard to cry out, “A boat on the star- 
board bow!” 


118 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“What does she look like?” exclaimed the captain. 

“A large boat full of men,” was the answer. 

Immediately every preparation was made, whilst 
few words were said. The guns were run out, and 
every one was stationed at his post. The captain, a 
cool, determined man, went round the deck and ad- 
dressed his men with encouraging words, whilst he 
concealed the danger which awaited them. He was 
particularly attentive to Edward, who by his mild and 
accommodating conduct had endeared himself to every 
one on board; and now he was happy to have found 
one so able to second him both by his advice and gal- 
lantry. He exhorted him not to thrust himself into 
danger, to act coolly, and not to tire his musket with- 
out aiming at some definite object. He ordered every 
open demonstration to be made to show that he was 
well prepared; whilst he entreated his men to act with 
prudence, and not to expose themselves unnecessarily. 
He made this demonstration upon the principle that 
rogues are always afraid of honest men, and that the 
determination of a few is frequently known to appal 
the illegal combinations of the many: and in this he* 
hoped that he was not mistaken; for suddenly the boat, 
which was now visible from the deck, stopped rowing, 
and seemed undecided what course to steer. 

This gave the captain a favourable opportunity for 
taking a steady survey through his glass of the craft 
and her contents, and he could plainly discern her to 
be a large row-boat, the masts and sails of which had 
been purposely lowered to prevent detection. She was 
full of men, and her appearance sufficiently announced 
their character and intentions: it was evident that they 
were nothing more or less than pirates. The point 
from which they came was extremely suspicious, and 
their manoeuvres were calculated to increase that sus- 
picion. 

The captain looked around the horizon with a wist- 
ful eye, hoping that ere the awful struggle should take 
place some friendly sail might heave in sight, or that a 
breeze of wind might spring up which would enable 
him to escape from his awkward situation. He knew 
that both English and American ships of war were 
cruising about this very spot for the protection of 
trade: he inwardly prayed (for his agony was great) 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


119 

that some help might be vouchsafed him; for in his in- 
most mind he felt that, if attacked, nothing could pre- 
vent their being taken; and that whatever might be his 
exertions and those of his brave crew, still, that they 
could do nothing against such overpowering numbers as 
he observed to be in the piratical boat. He hoped 
that the delay in their operations might be ominous of 
good; but, on making use of his glass a second time, 
he observed them again in motion steering directly to- 
wards him. He loudly exclaimed when he saw this: — 
“Now, my lads, look out! Here they come, and will 
soon be alongside.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Ji conflict with pirates described. Edward Mariby's ill 
luck pursues him. 

Edward did not remain a quiet spectator. He armed 
himself with cutlass, pistol, and musket; and in so 
doing he put up a mental prayer that the disaster which 
he and his friends on board apprehended might be 
averted, and that they might be left to pursue their 
voyage in peace. He did every thing to further the 
orders given by the captain; and showed by his looks 
and by the few words which escaped him how deter- 
mined he was to lend every assistance that might be 
in his power. In the mean while, the piratical boat 
had arrived within hailing-distance; when the usual 
questions having several times been made and no 
answer returned, the captain ordered one of his guns 
to be fired directly at the boat. The shot fell at a 
short distance from it. This excited the invaders 
to increase their energy; and now might be seen 
at the helm a commanding figure of fierce aspect, who 
seemed to be the chief, and who urged on his crew with 
violent action and cheering words. More guns were 
fired, and still without effect. Several men in the boat 
were seen to fail from the effects of musketry, which 
only redoubled their efforts, and soon they were along- 
side. Now might be heard voices elevated in every 
tone and in various languages; and had any one on 


120 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


board the English ship been cool enough to observe, he 
might have discovered men of all colours and all na- 
tions, deserters, outlaws, and murderers, a motley 
crowd, who usually make up the crews of piratical ves- 
sels. 

The clamour that ensued as the invaders abandoned 
their oars and took to their arms was soon succeeded by 
the awful sounds of actual conflict, on which depended 
life or death, and in which were displayed the greatest 
coolness and determination on one side, with the most 
ferocious and barbarous exultation proceeding from su- 
perior numbers on the other. The clashing of cutlasses, 
the discharge of fire-arms, the cries of savage fury 
mixed with the agonies of the wounded, and an occa- 
sional heavy splash in the sea announcing the fall of 
some struggling wretch, were confounded into one 
general uproar. The result of the struggle at first was 
very doubtful, but at length it became evident that the 
superior numbers of the pirates would prevail. They 
had already succeeded in gaining possession of the deck, 
and most of the gallant crew was either slain or mor- 
tally wounded. Edward, his head bound with a hand- 
kerchief, had been fighting manfully hand to hand, and 
had received many a wound, which he disregarded so 
long as he could wield his sword. He espied the cap- 
tain in mortal conflict with the chief of the pirates; and 
as he was about rushing to his assistance, he heard the 
captain exclaim, as he fell, “For Heaven’s sake, Mr. 
Manby, surrender! all is lost.” 

The piratical chief, on hearing the name of Manby, 
suddenly turned round, and looking steadily at Edward, 
seemed overcome by his appearance. He desisted from 
taken any further share in the conflict, excepting to 
check the ardour of those of his men who were on the 
point of adding Edward to the slain. His exertions 
saved the life of our hero, who, however, to all appear- 
ance was left for dead; for he fainted from loss of blood, 
and was thrown on one side apparently without life. 
It was only by the exertions of the chief, who poured 
some spirits down his throat, that he was again brought 
to life; but when the reviving youth turned his eyes 
round and saw the fate that had befallen his compa- 
nions, he wished that death might have been his fate 
also. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


121 

On all sides the deck was strewn with the dead and 
the dying, — some actually dead, others in the last ago- 
nies — and others again moaning with piteous accents, in 
all the throes and tortures of pain. The gallant cap- 
tain was breathing his last, one hand still grasping a cut- 
lass, whilst the other held that of a messmate who had 
just died before him. 

To his astonishment, Edward perceived that the chief 
of the pirates was entirely taken up in tending his safe- 
ty. When he had come to himself, the chief said to 
him: “Are you the son of Captain Manby, who, with 
his wife, died in Jamaica some twenty years ago?” Ed- 
ward having answered in the affirmative, the other as- 
sured him he had nothing to fear, for that he would 
take care of him; and then, by the help of some of his 
men, having laid him on a bed in the cabin, and having 
ordered that no one should molest him, he busied him- 
self in securing the advantages of the prize which he 
had made. 

To the dreadful tragedy just described, which ter- 
minated by great loss of lives on the side of the pirates, 
and by a massacre of all the English with the exception 
of Edward, succeeded a scene of general pillage, follow- 
ed by one of drunkenness and carousing. The nature 
of man, as existing in the wretches who had committed 
this deed, was entirely merged in that of the demon. 
So long as it was necessary to maintain discipline, the 
chief asserted that character pistol in hand; but when 
his object was gained, he no longer chose to preserve 
his superiority, but allowed the most unbounded licence 
to reign. The deck was now as much strewn with drunk- 
ards as with the dead; and in one loathsome simultaneous 
heap might be seen the wretch who had lost his senses 
by intoxication, lying side by side with the unfortunate 
man who had fallen by the sword. 

The history of Edward’s miraculous escape was 
briefly this: — The piratical chief had been brought up 
a boy in the family of Captain and Mrs. Manby, when 
at Jamaica. He was treated more as their child than 
their servant; he had almost seen Edward born — had 
nursed him as an infant, and, in short, lived in the 
Manby family until the death of the father and mother, 
when bad courses and evil company gradually drove 
him to the desperate profession in which he has now ap- 

VOL. II. — 11 


122 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


peared before us. As soon as he heard Edward’s name 
pronounced, struck by his strong likeness to his parents, 
he was immediately awed into generosity; and as in the 
heart of the most wicked there is ever a chord which, if 
properly touched, vibrates to virtue and repentance, so 
in this instance the ruffian softened into the lamb as 
soon as he caught a certain look in Edward’s face which 
reminded him of all his charms as a child, and of all his 
obligations to his parents. 

The whole gang were so entirely plunged in beastly 
excess, that no one remarked a slight breeze which had 
sprung up, and moreover that it was bringing up with 
it a gallant vessel under a crowd of canvass. The chief 
was the first to perceive this most unwelcome appari- 
tion; and immediately, with the assistance of such as 
were comparatively sober, he began to make all sail. 
His efforts were useless, for the chasing vessel was an 
English man-of-war, which had the reputation of out- 
sailing everything on the station. 

Danger is an amazing quickener of the senses. So 
soon as it was known that they were chased by a mans- 
of-war, the drunkards seemed all at once restored to 
sobriety; they fell naturally under the discipline of their 
chief, the decks were cleared, and everything put into 
order to meet the emergency. It soon became evident 
that all their efforts would prove useless, for the chase, 
to use a sailor’s phrase, was overhauling them hand over 
hand. The captain of the pirates then called a coun- 
cil; and it was resolved to abandon the ship and to take 
again to their boat, in the hope of being able, by dint 
of rowing, to gain one of those creeks on the coast so 
well known to them, and into which no ship of any bur- 
then could enter. Therefore, collecting everything 
valuable, they hauled their boat alongside, and with the 
utmost haste and trepidation entered it. But this their 
resolution was taken too late: the breeze was freshen- 
ing, the sea getting up, and the man-of-war was now 
within gun-shot distance. However, they shoved oft*, 
and began rowing for their lives. 

The captain of the man-of-war having observed this 
manoeuvre, and having guessed the true state of the 
case, steered directly after the boat, leaving the ship to 
itself. The precision with which the shot was thrown 
from the bow-guns deprived the runaways of that cool- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


123 

ness so necessary in danger, and made them pull un- 
steadily; for they became apprehensive of instant des- 
truction. At length a shot having struck the boat, a 
cessation of exertion ensued, and with that a determi- 
nation to surrender. The pirates were taken on board; 
and as their profession could not be doubted, they were 
immediately clapped into irons, and it was announced 
to them that they would forthwith be taken to Jamaica, 
there to be tried for their lives before the Court of 
Admiralty. 

All this while, Edward remained confined in his 
berth, scarcely able to move, but conscious that some- 
thing had taken place to produce so sudden a cessation 
of noise and bustle. He lay in this state for some 
time, when the less boisterous noise of a new set of 
visitants met his ears; and soon after, the cabin in 
which he lay was visited by a youth in uniform, accom- 
panied by several English sailors. He hailed this ap- 
parition with gratitude, for it was the signal of his de- 
livery. He soon made himself known to the officer, 
who seeing a man disfigured by blood and apparently 
much wounded, incredulous of his story, at once class- 
ed him as one belonging to the pirates, and ordered him 
to be taken on board the man-df-war. This was im- 
mediately done; but when he made known his situation 
to the captain — gave proofs of his identity by referring 
to his baggage and papers, and moreover was confronted 
with his preserver, the chief of the pirates, who cor- 
roborated his statements, he was not only allowed to be 
set at liberty, but was taken under the special care of 
the captain, who treated him with the attention of a 
brother. In a short time Edward was restored to health; 
and the day he left the doctor’s hands was the day he 
caught a glimpse of his birth-place, where he afterwards 
landed, with his heart full of gratitude for his preser- 
vation from a horrid death. 

We will not delay the progress of our story by di- 
gressing into that of the unfortunate pirates, who were 
duly made a proper example of, and, by their execu- 
tion, paid the debt of their numerous murderous crimes; 
nor will it be necessary to say, that Edward did every- 
thing in his power to comfort and cheer the preserver 
of his life during the short time he had to live ere he 
met that doom which by no interest or interference was 


124 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


it possible to avert. The instances of good feeling 
which the unfortunate man had exhibited, were a suf- 
ficient warrant that he possessed other good qualities, 
which only required cultivation to create that repent- 
ance so necessary to salvation; and Edward did not 
fail to labour hard to produce such a result. The poor 
wretch wept like a child at his exhortations, and quit- 
ted life with more composure than he had ever before 
enjoyed in it. 

Edward having been recognised bv many of his 
father’s and mother’s friends in the island, was re- 
ceived by them with open arms. He remained long 
enough to show that he was worthy of bearing a name 
which his parents had rendered respectable; and the 
proofs of this were exhibited in the means freely offer- 
ed him to prosecute the object of his voyage. Having 
at length been enabled to forward the letters which he 
had written to Abel and Mary, his mind was relieved 
from his principal anxiety, and he embarked joyfully for 
Vera Cruz on board the same man-of-war which 
brought him to Jamaica. The voyage to that place 
was short, and he landed with eagerness in order to 
make every inquiry concerning the object of his search 
— Mary’s father. It was not long before he heard him 
mentioned; and, in truth, as he proceeded up the coun- 
try, he found his name in every body’s mouth; for it 
was impossible for one so full of energy and activity to 
remain unnoticed in a country whose characteristic is 
apathy and indifference. 

Edward proceeded to Xalapa, and thence with all 
despatch to the city of Mexico. He was introduced to 
many persons who were well acquainted with Mary’s 
father, and from them he learned that, having been dis- 
appointed in discovering the mines he was sent out to 
superintend, he had turned his thoughts to other pro- 
jects, and proposed to the government many schemes 
for raising the republic to the highest pinnacle of per- 
fection; and although his plans were not adopted, yet 
he was heard with patience, and greeted as a well- 
wisher to the state. Edward was informed that, in 
consequence of the failure of all his schemes, he had 
determined to cross the Pacific to further the interests of 
civilisation on the other side of the globe, and that he 
had recently departed for Acapulco. Being assured 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


125 

that he might be overtaken ere he set sail from that 
port, Edward was not long in making up his mind what 
to do, and he determined to follow him with all speed. 
Accordingly, he hired mules, with a conductor; and 
taking no other baggage than was necessary, he depart- 
ed, and rested the first night at San Agustin. Here he 
was shown the very spot where John Allnut had rested; 
and had the satisfaction of sleeping in the very bed in 
which he had slept. At Cuernavaca he was told that 
he would easily overtake him, for that he had passed 
by but a few days before. At the sugar-mills at St. 
Gabriel, the director spoke in high terms of Don Juan, 
as he called him, who had given him a good hint towards 
making some improvement in the machinery of his 
sugar-works: and at Tepecoaquilco, Edward was 
charmed at seeing his name inscribed with his own 
hand on the wall of the kitchen, with the drawing of a 
tea-kettle, by which he concluded that he had been de- 
scanting to his hosts upon the merits of that faithful 
administrator to an Englishman’s comforts. The 
scratches were so fresh that Edward almost felt as if he 
were present. At Chilpantzingo Edward actually saw 
the print of his shoes before the door, and the circum- 
ference of his person on the dust of a table upon which 
he had sat; and he now made so sure of seeing him, 
that he allowed himself the indulgence of a longer rest, 
in order to relieve the excess of the fatigue he had un- 
dergone. He then pushed on with vigour -for Acapulco, 
and was overwhelmed with joy upon hearing from a 
traveller going to Mexico, that the ship bound for the 
Manillas on which Mary’s father was to embark was 
still at anchor in the bay. 

A breeze in the mean while had risen, which refresh- 
ed the air as he rode into the hot town of Acapulco. 
He made at once for the house of thg merchant to whose 
care he had been recommended, and the first question 
he asked was concerning the object of his journey. The 
taciturn Spaniard to whom he addressed himself very 
quietly took him by the arm, and leading him to an. 
open balcony which overlooked the superb bay of the 
town, and taking a cigar from his mouth, pointed to a 
ship in full sail just turning a distant headland, he said, 
“Alii esta Bon Juan Allnutt — in other words, “There 
ffoes John Allnutt. 5 ’ 

O 


126 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The first dawn of hope occasioned by a common occur- 
rence in an uncommon case . 

Turning from the face of dismay which the disap- 
pointed Edward made upon seeing the object of his 
long search sail away, we must leave him for the pre- 
sent to such adventures as the chapter uf accidents may 
have in store for him, and return to the principal object 
of our story. 

We left Abel a prisoner for debt, and his sisters and 
niece living hard by in a lodging, working for their daily 
bread. A prison life must ever be one of great same- 
ness; and habit, which has very properly been called 
second nature, soon renders that bearable which at first 
appears intolerable. To Abel, whose mind was always 
contemplative, and to whom a constant sense of religion 
had rendered the vicissitudes of life much less start- 
ling than they are to the thoughtless, the situation in 
which he was placed produced but small effect upon the 
even tenor of his spirits, although it had an evident 
effect upon his health. His principal objects of his so- 
licitude were his sisters and niece; for he was not slow 
to perceive that they did not possess sufficient fortitude 
to bear up against their misfortunes. 

Bab’s usual alacrity had given way to apathy and a 
mournful silence; Aunt Fanny, abandoning in despair 
all her pretensions to youth, had dwindled into a down- 
right old woman; whilst Mary, who evidently forced 
herself to appear cheerful before her uncle, was daily 
wasting away, pale and wan, the victim of disappoint- 
ment. So much time had now elapsed since any tidings 
had been received of Edward, that, although she never 
could entirely make up her mind to accuse him of false- 
ness and inconstancy, still his silence did appear to her 
so reprehensible, that she strove with all the powers of 
her mind to forget that such a man existed. With all 
the inquiries they had been able to make at Liverpool, 
the utmost extent of the intelligence acquired was, that 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 1£7 

his uncle had become a bankrupt, and that Edward was 
gone oft' to America. 

Such constant striving against the warmest and ten- 
derest affections could not fail to produce the direst 
effects, particularly on one so confiding and so true as 
the gentle Mary. Her beauty, so symmetrical in form 
— so full of the exuberance of youth, had fallen away, 
and she became thin, wasted, and transparent; — her 
beaming look, which spoke the inward sunshine of the 
heart, and a cheerfulness of disposition upon which 
worldly cares had hitherto never obtruded their baleful 
touch, was supplanted by a sunken eye which looked 
upon space, by a blanched cheek which announced dis- 
ease, and by a pensive look which was only varied by 
deep-drawn sighs and falling tears. Often did she sit 
for hours poring over the drudgery of work almost me- 
chanical without uttering a w ord, and only showing that 
she was a sentient being by the occasional up-heaving 
of her woe- stricken breast. But when she proceeded to 
visit her uncle in his prison — to sit with him, to read to 
him, — upbraiding herself for so much weakness, and for 
placing so little dependance upon her Maker, she en- 
deavoured to assume a tone of satisfaction; and those 
wan and sickly features w r ould assume an unnatural 
mirth, which, alas! only spoke the more bitterly of her 
misery. When she conversed with her uncle, she 
received so much consolation from the piety of his 
conversation, that every worldly evil appeared ob- 
literated; but when, confined to her miserable drudg- 
eries in the smallest and meanest of lodgings, she was 
condemned day after day to encounter the unceasing 
moaning and never-ending complaints of her aunts, then 
her philosophy and resignation would break down, and 
she made up a third in the calamitous trio. 

The usual tone of their conversation as they sat at 
work was something in this style: — “I think,” said 
Aunt Bab, “that Mr. Barnes” (the governor of the 
prison) “ought to allow in fairness a larger portion of 
meat to Abel, who is more constant in his attendance 
in chapel than any other of the prisoners,— for we might 
then get something additional for ourselves. Abel en- 
courages more men to go to church by his example than 
all Mr. Barnes’s meat.” 

“Mr. Barnes has no business to be partial,” said 


128 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Aunt Fanny in the same tone of complaint. “He al- 
lowed that tall, dirty-looking woman, of the Middlesex 
Ward, a penny more for her kettle-holder than he did 
for mine, which was worked with a great deal more care 
than hers. I think he is apt to be too kind to very tall 
women.” 

“If he don’t mind,” said Bab, sighing and laying 
her arms on her knees in listless languor, “he’ll have a 
rebellion among the women. They think their two- 
penny loaves too small as it is, and if it goes on much 
longer, I should’nt be surprised if they were to let him 
know it too.” 

“What cheats all these prison people are!” said 
Fanny. “Would you believe it? that horrid woman to 
whom Mr. Barnes recommended us to sell our work,— 
Mrs. Cross they call her, — she only offered me eigli- 
teenpence three farthings for that beautiful handker- 
chief which Mary finished yesterday. You know it 
would have sold for ten shillings at least at Mrs. 
Woodby's bazaar. I think Mr. Barnes has no busi- 
ness to recommend such cheats to us.” 

“He does not know what women are,” said Bab. “I 
dare say Mr. Barnes means very well; but he knows 
no more about women than that barber’s block over the 
way. Milliners will get every stitch they can out of 
the fingers of the poor; and then, when they can’t hold 
a needle any longer, they wopld make them work with 
their bare stumps. With all our labour we can scarce- 
ly pay our rent. I am sure,” she added with a sigh, 
“I am wasted into a perfect skeleton!” 

“And so am I,” said Fanny with a corroborative 
sigh: — “I, too, that was once so plump! It does not 
signify talking and moaning, we shall never get fat 
again until Mexico pays her dividends,” 

“Then we shall never be fat again,” answered Bab, 
“for that day is gone by. I begin to doubt that such 
a place as Mexico ever did exist: and I think that the 
whole has been a hoax of that wretch old Woodby from 
beginning to end. 

“And there is poor dear Abel,” said Fannv; “he 
really makes me quite angry! he is always taking that 
villain’s part, and says he had a right" to make the 
most of his money, whilst we are left to starve. Did 
you hear what the clergyman said last Sunday in his 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


129 


sermon? ‘The rich man who takes advantage of the 
necessity or the ignorance of the poor, although he may 
have the laws of man in his favour, will assuredly go 
with the accursed of God into hell.’ 1 wish old Wood- 
by had heard that!” 

“And young Woodby, too,” said Bab: “he has to 
answer for our present miserable state!” 

No sooner had these words been uttered, than the 
noise of wheels (a rare occurrence) was heard in the 
narrow street, and presently a concussion, and a cry, 
and a general bustle. Mary, who had been sitting near 
her aunts, silent and absorbed in her own thoughts as 
usual, jumped up and looked out of the window. There 
she perceived a dray-cart that had caught the wheel of 
a gentleman’s cabriolet and upset it, whilst the horse 
was kicking violently; and within she observed a youth 
in imminent danger of having his brains dashed out. 
Immediately the two aunts and the niece rushed into 
the street to endeavour to assist the sufferer; and when 
they got there, they found him in the hands of the col- 
lected mob, who announced that he was much hurt. 
The door of the house in which they lived being open 
and the nearest at hand, he was dragged into it; and 
we leave the reader to guess their sensations when 
they recognised Tom Woodby himself in the agonising 
youth! He had received a violent contusion on the 
head, which was bleeding violently, and was otherwise 
much wounded. 

However horrified the aunts and the niece might be 
at having thus stumbled upon the person of all others 
whom they least wished to see, yet their benevolence 
was not to be checked even upon such an occasion as 
this; and the unworthy object of it was not long in 
meeting at their hands all the assistance and care which 
he might have received from those most tenderly attach- 
ed to him. They laid him in a bed, bound up his 
wounds, and nursed him with constant care. 

As soon as he became conscious of his state, and dis- 
covered into whose hands he had fallen, although con- 
vinced that he could not be better off go where he might, 
yet such little delicacy or generosity of feeling did he 
possess, that he soon concluded that all the care and 
kindness thus shown him could only proceed from mo- 
tives of interest. His original object in coming thus far 
was to discover Mary’s place of abode, in the hope that. 


130 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


after having made her and her relations taste the bitter- 
ness of want, they would be likely to lower their tone 
of indignation and come into his terms; and now that 
he found them, so very attentive and kind, he was con- 
firmed in his first supposition; and we need not add, 
that no feeling of gratitude would prevent him from act- 
ing upon the baseness of his motives. Although he was 
not long in feeling better, yet he did not seem in the 
least inclined to return to his home, but adhered to the 
quarters into which he had fallen with the most imper- 
tinent resolution, notwithstanding the evident inconve- 
nience to which he was putting the owners. At length 
he acquired so much strength that he could no longer 
find a pretext for delay; and with acknowledgments on 
his tongue for the kindness shown him, he went away 
with a treacherous determination in his heart to take 
advantage of that kindness in the furtherance of his 
wicked views. 

Aunt Bab was not long in informing Abel of the cir- 
cumstance which had occurred, and they speculated 
upon what might have been Tom Woodby’s object in 
paying them a visit. She conceived that he had repent- 
ed of his conduct and intended to remit his claim, and 
thus relieve Abel from his confinement. Abel argued, 
if such had been his intention, why did he not declare 
it? and as he had not done so, he feared that he was 
still planning views destructive of Mary’s happiness. 

The doubt was soon after cleared up by a second 
visit, when the wicked man’s intentions were more fully 
developed, and, under the pretext of ottering his thanks 
for the attentions shown him, he presumed to put for- 
ward his former pretensions to Mary’s favour. She 
soon perceived his intensions, and then for the first time 
in her life she allowed the indignation which arose in 
her breast to vent itself in words. She upbraided him 
with being the cause of the miseries which now weighed 
upon them, with cruelty in enforcing his claims, with 
duplicity in his conduct to her, with ingratitude in now 
repaying the kindness which had been shown to him by 
his endeavours to degrade and ruin her. 

Had he possessed one grain of proper feeling, his ad- 
miration would have been excited by the burst of vir- 
tuous indignation which broke from her lips, which not 
only lighted up her expressive features into a blaze of 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


J 31 


beauty, but brought out all the graces of her person by 
the energy and earnestness of her action. But his 
wicked heart was not to be touched by any one gene- 
rous feeling: on the contrary, the truths which were 
thrown into his ears by this seductive maiden first ex- 
cited his hatred, and then increased his determination to 
continue his persecutions to their utmost extent. 

Mary, who had taken the defence of herself and of 
her relations into her hands, — for Barbara was too 
much subdued by her miseries, and Fanny too imbe- 
cile, — insisted that the scene which had taken place 
between her and her persecutor should not be disclosed 
to her uncle. She would not allow' the miseries which 
he endured to be increased by the impotent anger which 
would arise in his breast; but she continued day after 
day to visit him as usual; and endeavoured to control 
herself so effectually as to make it apparent that 
nothing had happened in consequence of the catastro- 
phe of Tom’s accident. 

The aunts and the niece had frequent access to Mr. 
Barnes, the governor of the prison, who gave them every 
facility of disposing of their work, and thus relieved 
' them from the pressure of abject want. At his house 
they received many alleviations of their misery, as 
much by his conversation as by the use of his books 
I which he very kindly lent them to read. 

One morning, when Mary and Aunt Barbara had 
I called upon him to ask his advice upon some matter 
i touching Abel’s better comfort, Barbara first took up a 
I newspaper which was on the table, and which she was 
i ever glad to read — more to look over the advertisements 
than to read the news, because she hoped thereby to 
stumble upon something which might suit their case of 
want; and on this occasion one of the first things which 
struck her eye was the following advertisement: — 

“Matrimony. — A man of rank and title , of middle 
age , pleasing person, and possessed of considerable 
wealth , wishes to unite himself to a young lady of good 
family , of agreeable person , in the enjoyment of good 
health , who has received a good education , and is in 
every way a person of good temper and unimpeachable 
character. Money is of no consequence to him; there- 
fore he requires no fortune from his wife. None but 
those who can answer to the character here required need 


132 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


attend . Undeniable references will be required . Apply 
to Mr. Fairfax, solicitor, Lincoln’s-inn.” 

Barbara read this over and over again, her face flush- 
ing the while, and her attention so much absorbed, that 
she had forgotten the errand on which she came. "When 
Mr. Barnes came in, she handed the paper over to 
Mary, who also was struck by the advertisement, and 
read it;*but she read it without at first remarking how 
entirely the character and circumstances of the person 
coincicled with herself; and although she felt an oppres- 
sion at heart as the thought flashed across her mind 
that she now had an opportunity of liberating her uncle 
from prison and making him and her aunts happy, still 
the thought at first was merely transitory, like a pass- 
ing cloud over a calm lake, and left her in the same 
mood in which it had found her. 

Aunt Bab, who had been amazingly elated by the 
discovery she had made, had, however, sufficient deli- 
cacy not to urge it to Mary, but merely satisfied her- 
self with remarking what a strong coincidence there 
was between Mary’s situation and character with that 
required in the advertisement. Mary coldly smiled, 
but said nothing; still the thought returned with fresh 
vigour to her mind, and at length succeeded in taking 
such entire possession of it, that she could think of 
nothing else. She struggled within herself, as one of 
keen feeling struggles with conscience. She felt that 
Providence had placed relief within her reach, and that 
she was bound in duty to seek it: she felt herself called 
upon to make every sacrifice of her own feelings, — her 
long-cherished love for another, her own particular views 
of happiness in married life, — in order to emancipate 
her relations from their present hopeless state of misery 
and want. She thought to incur the severest repre- 
hension were she to allow selfishness to interpose, and 
esteemed herself criminal in rejecting what was a mani- 
festation of God’s good providence in her behalf. On 
the other hand, she dreaded lest by indulging in such 
thoughts she might be acting with treachery and infi- 
delity to Edward. His image now stood before her, 
aijd appeared to upbraid her for venturing to think of 
forsaking him. She saw in the husband who thus threw 
himself before the public, one who could only be the 
rejected of others, — a coarse, vulgar, and unrefined 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


133 

tyrant; who would taunt her for her poverty, and who, 
after all, would perhaps not be sufficiently generous to 
withdraw her uncle from prison, or settle him and her 
aunts in a situation of respectability. 

Thus dragged different ways by such opposite feel- 
ings, she became the prey of the most cruel uncertain- 
ty, and nothing could be more distressing than her 
appearance. Sleep fled her eyelids, she could not taste 
food, and she sat the figure of despondency. Her only 
refuge lay in prayer. Before the throne of the Al- 
mighty she threw herself on her knees, and in long 
mental prayer, accompanied by agony and a sense of 
her own unworthiness, she poured out her whole soul 
in supplications, praying that God’s grace might be 
sent her to direct her steps and soothe her almost fren- 
zied mind. She arose refreshed and comforted, for 
she saw the path of duty before her, and she resolved 
to pursue it in spite of every other consideration. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

As misfortunes seldom come alone , so is the reverse, 
much may he said in favour of what is commonly 
called a Hum of luck? 

One of the collateral incentives which impelled 
Mary to think seriously of the afore-mentioned adver- 
tisement, was the dread of Tom Woodby’s persecu- 
tions. She now felt herself so unprotected — abandon- 
ed as she supposed herself to be by Edward — she 
conceived that by acquiring a husband she would be 
free from one of her principal miseries. 

Had Tom Woodby once more appeared, we make 
no doubt that she would no longer have hesitated to 
apply to the advertisement as her last resource. But 
another circumstance took place, which, coming imme- 
diately at the back of her cogitations, settled her un- 
certainty, and was the cause of leading on to her future 
destiny. 

Two days after Aunt Barbara and Mary had read 
the newspaper at Mr. Barnes’s, Aunt Fanny, casually 
VOL. II. — 12 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


134 

looking out of the low window of her apartment into 
the street, observed a tall figure, which struck her as 
one she had seen before, looking upwards and down- 
wards — first into one house then into another, evident- 
ly seeking out the abode of some one. She saw him 
inquire at the barber’s shop opposite, who, to her aston- 
ishment, pointed towards the house in which she lived. 
This still more drew her attention to the stranger, 
who, without looking up, straightway rapped. 

“Who can he be?” said Fanny. Barbara then peer- 
ed out of the window; and the moment she caught a 
glimpse of the head and shoulders of the visitor, she 
exclaimed, “I declare, here comes Mark Woodcock I” 
An electrical shock could scarcely have given a stronger 
sensation to the frames of the three who heard this 
name. “So it is!” said Fanny in a tone of delight 
which had long been fofeign to her lips. “So it is!” 
exclaimed Mary in a tone of calmness and thought. 

Their exclamations were scarcely over ere he made 
his appearance. Mark’s joy on seeing them was quite 
equal to the pleasure which he diffused by his appear- 
ance. He was indeed much changed in looks, dress, 
and manner, since he had left them. Travel had done 
wonders for him; for it had destroyed many of his na- 
tional prejudices, and had transformed the London 
cockney into a man of the world. He now talked with 
confidence upon what he had seen, and made his hear- 
ers stare by the variety of odd names and hard words 
which he mixed into his discourse. He began by in- 
forming them that he had sought their old lodging in 
Golden-square; but that the actual occupiers knowing 
nothing of them, he applied to his friend in Silver 
street, wdio informed him where he might seek them, 
for he had heard of the circumstance which had driven 
Abel to prison. 

He was stopped here by Aunt Bab, wdiose indigna- 
tion having long been pent up within her breast, at 
length found vent in a flow of passionate words. She 
was almost choked by the violence of her emotion. 
She w r ent over the old ground of Woodby’s deceit, of 
the neglect of his wdfe and family, and the villany of 
his son’s conduct; — she moaned over their presentap- 
parentiy hopeless situation, of the little likelihood there 
was of Abel being released from prison, and the appre- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


135 


hension of their being doomed to toil and want without a 
hope of relief. 

Aunt Fanny confirmed every word both by look and 
occasional affirmation. They appealed to Mark whe- 
ther they were not privileged to complain, and inquir- 
ed whether such injustice as that which they had re- 
ceived could ever be paralleled in the history of any 
private family. 

To their surprise and further indignation, the only 
answer they received was an unfeeling smile, and an 
apparent indifference, accompanied bv certain, to them, 
incomprehensible shrugs and signs. The words which 
Mark used were to this purpose: “Let us hope for the 
best; — you may do better by and by — things are not so 
bad as they seem: help generally comes when it is 
least expected.” He then particularly addressed him- 
self to Mary; described to her his travels, and espe- 
cially his meeting with Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, of 
whom he gave a very favourable picture, touching 
lightly upon his eccentricities, but enlarging much up- 
on his virtues. He no longer preserved that silence 
for which he had formerly contended as a duty in men 
of his profession, but described the situation in which 
Sir Peregrine had been placed by his brother’s will, 
dwelt upon the wealth to which he was heir, and finally 
announced the singular mode which he had adopted of 
seeking a wife. 

Mary had paid but slight attention to the first part of 
Mark’s story, not having perceived what was in truth 
the drift of his discourse; but when he spoke of adver- 
tising for a wife through the newspapers, then she be- 
came quite alive to the subject. Mark’s whole soul 
was engaged in the furtherance of the scheme which he 
had conceived at Smyrna; it had travelled with him 
back to England — it had been the theme of his thoughts 
and the great object of his expectations. When he 
found that Mary listened to him with sufficient atten- 
tion, and when he discovered that she must have seen 
the advertisement to which he alluded, he then request- 
ed to be favoured with a little private conversation with 
Miss Mary; as he had something of importance to com- 
municate. 

Mary’s face was in an instant flushed, for she felt 
that her destinies were about to be fixed, and that she 


136 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


was now called upon to make up her mind upon the one 
great event of her life. She followed Mark into an ad- 
joining room, to the surprise of her aunts, who wonder- 
ed what such mystery could mean. 

Mark, with as little delay as possible, informed her 
of the scheme, by which he hoped to secure her a hand- 
some establishment and a good partner for life. He 
said that no one could answer so entirely to the quali- 
fications mentioned in the advertisement as herself; 
and that he was quite certain that Mr. Fairfax, with 
whom the selection rested, would immediately accept 
her as the future Lady Gklbourn. 

Mary, after a considerable struggle, in which her dis- 
gust at such a marriage was only diminished by love of 
her relations and desire to release her uncle from prison, 
making a violent effort over her feelings, addressed 
Mark Woodcock as follows: — “Mr. Mark, you have 
found me prepared for the prpposal which you have been 
kind enough to make me; for by accident it so happens 
that I saw the advertisement you allude to. Worn out 
with the misery of seeing n 1 1 ' 1 ’ ; 



with want — my dear uncle 


cannot withhold from you that I read that advertise- 
ment with considerable emotion, for it seemed almost 
addressed to myself. I perceived at once, that by 
making a sacrifice of my own feelings, through God’s 
good providence I might be the means of releasing my 
relations from their present state, and giving them a 
chance of being restored to their place in society. I 
had therefore almost made up my mind before you came 
to present myself as a candidate for the advertiser’s 
favour. After what you have said, I can no longer 
hesitate; but before I give my final answer, I must ask 
you this one question, and upon its result will depend 
my resolution. Should I accept, will sufficient money 
be advanced to set my uncle free from prison; and will 
a sufficient allowance be made to enable me to support 
my relations?” 

“Upon that score,” answered Mark without hesita- 
tion, “make your mind perfectly easy. I will answer 
for it, that all your wishes on that head will be met with 
liberality. Sir Peregrine is a generous man, upon 
whom considerations of money have no weight. Mr. 
Fairfax, too, you will find quite ready to accede to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


137 

your demands; and if after you have seen him matters 
are settled between you, another forty-eight hours shall 
not pass over our heads before Mr. Abel will be re- 
leased from prison, and, together with your aunts, 
comfortably accommodated in some good lodging.” 

Upon hearing these words, Mary’s countenance 
beamed with unusual lustre; her whole frame appeared 
to have received the infusion of a new feeling, for she 
felt that she was sacrificing her own happiness in order 
to redeem her relations from further misery. She seem- 
ed to glory in that power of overcoming herself, by 
which she was enabled to crush her own views, desires, 
and fondest feelings, in a magnanimous self-devotion 
to the happiness of others. She merely answered 
Mark, “Very well, sir; then it is agreed. Pray go 
and announce this to my aunts, and leave me alone.” 

Mark, struck with increased admiration at her man- 
ner, immediately did as he was bid; and as soon as the 
door closed, she locked it, then covering her face with 
her hands, fell upon her knees, whilst her whole frame 
was convulsed by the violence of her sensations. The 
satisfaction of an angel’s mind beamed in her heart; but 
the weakness of her nature gave way before the great- 
ness of the sacrifice she was about to make, and she 
was dissolved in an agony of tears. She would have 
prayed, but Edward’s image stood before her. “Dear, 
dear Edward,” she exclaimed, “forgive me! Wretched 
creature that I am! wherefore am I so wretched? 
May God forgive my ungrateful heart! — let me hold 
fast to his love and do his almighty bidding!” Then in 
mental prayer she poured forth ardent supplications for 
support, entreating that she might reject every temptation 
to think of herself, and receive strength to persevere in 
the good work she had began. Long was she buffeted 
by her feelings, and long did she remain absorbed 
in thought, meditating upon the consequences likely to 
ensue should her determination be- productive of its ex- 
pected results. 

In the mean while, Mark returned to the aunts, 
whom he had left in no pleasant humour at his appa- 
rent want of sympathy. They received him with cold 
and formal civility; and when they asked him what 
had become of Mary, to their astonishment — to their 
breathless astonishment, he announced, that she had 
12 * 


138 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


desired him to inform them that she was going to be 
married. 

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Aunt Bab, naturally 
enough mistaking him as the object of Mary’s choice. 

“Well, this is extraordinary!” exclaimed Fanny, 
equally deceived. 

“Yes,” said Mark with the sort of air which might 
well have been taken for the exultation of an accepted 
lover, — “Yes, Miss Allnutt has been kind enough to 
listen to my persuasions, and she has accepted. She 
desired me to announce to you this piece of intelligence, 
which, she is persuaded, will make you happy.” 

“Humph!” said Bab. 

“Well, I declare!” echoed Fanny. 

“We little expected this, and that’s the truth of it!” 
said Bab. 

“It has come upon us like thunder!” said Fanny. 

“I am afraid that you are not satisfied with her de- 
termination,” said Mark; “yet I have long thought it 
was the very luckiest thing that could happen to her.” 

“Indeed!” said Bab with an indignant toss of her 
head. 

“There is no other person that I know,” said Mark, 
“who is worthy of so much happiness.” 

“Some people, I do think,” said Fanny between her 
teeth, “think mighty well of themselves!” 

“I protest!” said Mark, “I expected you would ap- 
pear a little better pleased at the good luck of your 
niece.” 

“Good luck indeed!” said Bab. 

“Why, half the young ladies in London would give 
their eyes to stand in her shoes.” 

“Better and better!” exclaimed Fanny. 

“Does not this place her at once at the top of the 
tree?” said Mark, 

“Of what tree?” inquired Bab in disgust. 

“Why, I ask,” said Mark, “does not she attain rank, 
w r ealth, and an unexceptionable husband, at one grasp?” 

“We never heard of any wealth before,” said Bar- 
bara, a little softened. 

“If there is money,” said Fanny, “that alters the 
case.” 

“Wealth, to be sure there is, and rank besides,” said 
Mark. “I would have made her a duchess had it been 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


139 

in my power, for I am sure she is fit for anything: but 
surely you won’t object to her becoming a baronet’s 
lady?” 

“A baronet’s lady!” exclaimed Bab in utter astonish- 
ment; “how did you ever become a baronet? I thought 
you were plain Mr. Mark Woodcock, nephew of our 
Cruikshank. Surely the Turks don’t make baronets?” 

“You a baronet!” said Fanny. “Why, you have 
been made one abroad, then?” 

“This is excellent!” roared Mark, breaking out into 
unrestrained laughter; “such a mistake is worth a farce! 
Who ever said 1 was a baronet? — you must be dream- 
ing!” Then turning to Aunt Bab, he said, “Did not 
you say that you had read the advertisement in the 
newspaper headed ‘Matrimony,’ and that Miss Mary 
answered to the person sought after in every respect? 
Well, that is my advertisement, — or my chief’s, Mr. 
Fairfax, which is the same thing. Sir Peregrine Old- 
bourn is the man seeking a wife: he has found her in 
Miss Mary, and she has agreed to become Lady Old- 
bourn.” 

As soon as this explanation was made, the joy which 
broke out in the hearts of the two spinsters is not to be 
described; — they could not contain their raptures, par- 
ticularly when Mark further explained, that the pre- 
liminary to the whole thing would be the immediate 
liberation of their brother from prison, and their instal- 
ment in some comfortable house, with a suitable mainte- 
nance, until the marriage should take place. 

They would have covered Mark with the approbation 
of an embrace, had he not fled to seek Mary, who, he 
hoped, would now be ready to receive him. They all 
three went in search of her, the aunts screaming out at 
the top of their voices the fulness of the joy which had 
so suddenly overtaken them. 

Mary, unwilling that her aunts should know what had 
been the violence of her struggles, did her best to com- 
pose her countenance and to come before them with her 
usual equanimity; but Bab and Fanny, who worshipped 
the ground upon which she trod, were not slow in de- 
tecting the traces of recent weeping; and in embracing 
her with silent affection, they became themselves more 
inclined to weep than to give way to noisy mirth. They 
soon felt how great was the sacrifice she had consented 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


140 

to make; they were convinced it was made to ensure 
their happiness, and this consideration gave a fresh tone 
of tenderness to their manners and attentions towards 
her. All that Mary said on the occasion was this: — 
“My dear aunts, let me entreat of you, do not say a 
word to Uncle Abel until the whole be settled, and then 
let me announce it to him. I know him so well, that if 
he once thought I was doing this to get him out of pri- 
son, he would rather die there than allow it.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

A few hints dedicated to the curious in matrimony . 

The effects of an advertisement. 

Mark Woodcock returned the next day at an early 
hour for the purpose of accompanying Mary, escorted 
by Aunt Bab, to the office of Mr. Fairfax, to whom she 
was to be introduced, previous to the final settlement. 

They found Mr. Fairfax a benevolent-looking man, 
with a quick eye and business-like manners, seated in 
a sombre, dusty room, surrounded by a multitude of 
chocolate-coloured tin boxes, the receptacles of the for- 
tunes of his numerous clients, which, like a tradesman’s 
stock in trade, were displayed with no little ostentation 
on and about his shelves.' Among these the name of 
Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, Bart, shone conspicuous; and 
well did the family lawyer repay the confidence reposed 
in his integrity, by the anxious interest which he dis- 
played in furthering to the utmost the wishes of the late 
baronet. 

Aunt Bab, followed by Mary and preceded by Mark, 
ascended the well-worn staircase leading to the office, 
and entering the battered door, were introduced into an 
ante-room, where they perceived several women seated 
in a row, some gaudily, others more modestly dressed, 
but all wearing a veil, and all keeping it closely lower- 
ed over the face, who evidently were collected in con- 
sequence of the advertisement. They might have been 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 141 

taken for the harem of a Mussulman, had a black 
guardian been at hand to control them. 

As soon as Bab and her niece appeared, all the 
heads were immediately turned towards them, and a 
severe scrutiny took place, which was concluded by 
a contemptuous sneer. In truth, the scanty and 
much worn-garments, the faded colours of their bon- 
nets, and the general pauper-like appearance of both 
Aunt Bab and Mary, bespoke anything but persons 
coming in search of a husband. Bab’s squalid looks 
announced want and hunger; Mary, though pinched 
with ill health and poverty, still exhibited such forms of 
beauty, and such modesty of countenance, that even as 
she stood, it was impossible to see her without admira- 
tion; and all eyes, both of the clerks in the office as 
well as those of the expectant females, were fixed on 
her face. 

“Wait here for a moment,” said Mark, as he pro- 
ceeded to announce their arrival to his chief; during 
which interval, Mary and her aunt had time to take a 
short survey of the assembled competitors. One was a 
tall, thin, and extravagantly-dressed lady, with ringlets 
flowing in such profusion, that it was evident they were 
a recent translation from the barber’s block to her own 
head; and although her face could not be distinguished 
through her veil, yet there was visible a certain tinge of 
red, which might make one conclude that she was not 
so young as she had been. She sat in a languishing, 
serpentine attitude on her chair, putting out a foot 
which by its shape had evidently been the torment of 
the shoemaker’s art. Next to her sat in strong contrast 
a short squat woman, who, wishing to add to her height, 
had drawn up the bows of her bonnet into perpen- 
dicular lines over her head, making her look like alow- 
built house with high chimneys. She breathed short 
and moved her feet, wishing thereby to touch the ground 
with them as she sat on her chair. There w T as a reso- 
lution in her gait which spoke the determination not to 
die single. — Then came one who seemed to found her 
hopes principally upon the attractions of her teeth, 
for her veil was lowered just sufficiently to exhibit her 
mouth, which she kept so disposed, that her teeth, 
which presented a formidable row, might be seen with- 
out interruption. Another hoped to gain admiration 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


142 

by the exposure of her arm and hand, which she per- 
mitted herself to flourish about in various attitudes. 
In short, there was no end to the catalogue of preten- 
sions which, in various modes, were put forwards in 
the hope of obtaining the prize. 

Mary and her aunt had not waited long ere Mark in- 
vited them to walk into Mr. Fairfax’s room, evidently 
thereby exciting the indignation of the ladies in wait- 
ing. "Having already been prepared by Mark’s des- 
cription of his visiters, Mr. Fairfax received them with 
great kindness and civility; and he was not long in 
ascertaining how accurate that description was: Mary’s 
beauty w'as not lost upon him, and the charm, simplici- 
t y, and truth of her manner, succeeded in making him 
ready to believe everything that might be advanced in 
her favour. 

There was one thing upon which he insisted ere he 
gave his final acceptance, in order fully to put into 
execution the provisions of the late baronet’s will; 
which was, that proper references should be given, 
who might report upon the respectability of the appli- 
cant’s character. Upon this Aunt Bab looked at 
Mary, and Mary looked at her aunt, without knowing 
what to say, for to whom could they refer in London? 
At Ivycote, it is true, they had a host of friends; but 
they could not send Mr. Fairfax thither: therefore, 
with the exception of the Goold Woodbys, they were 
quite at fault. They forthwith mentioned their situa- 
tion to Mr. Fairfax, who instantly settled that a refer- 
ence to the Woodbys would be quite sufficient; for he 
added, whatever might be their hostility, they would 
never venture to vilify the character of the family; and 
he determined himself to call upon them that very 
morning. 

Upon this Aunt Bab and her niece, escorted by Mark, 
left the room. As soon as Mark returned to the ladies 
in waiting, he announced to them in the civilest of man- 
ners, that the object of the advertisement having been 
accomplished, he was requested by Mr. Fairfax to re- 
lieve them from further attendance. This became the 
signal for the breaking out of that wrath w hich had 
been excited in the breasts of the expectants by the pre- 
cedence accorded to Mary over themselves. 

The tall, thin lady, standing up and raising her veil, 
whereby she disclosed a face that would have done 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


143 

credit to a gorgon, exclaimed, “I won’t stir till I have 
seen Mr. Fairfax, and so you may tell him. I came 
here first, and you hav’n’t behaved like a gentleman to 
take in those ladies there,” (pointing to Aunt Bab and 
Mary, making a most contemptuous sneer as she placed 
a strong emphasis upon that word,) “before me and the 
other ladies here. 1 don’t see why the like of them is 
to take the lead before the like of us.’’ 

“Yes,” said the squat woman, clenching her hands 
and showing a face upon which ‘rum, cordials, and rich 
compounds,’ were written in legible characters, — “Yes, 
ladies indeed! I wouldn’t give that,” snapping her 
fingers at the same time, “for a whole house full of them ! 
I should like to know why such a pair of ladies are to 
take the bread out of our mouths! I wouldn’t demean 
myself so much as to drink out of the same glass with 
either of them !” 

“We are scandalously used,” said the third lady, 
showing her teeth literally and figuratively. “We have 
as much right to be seen and heard as that person,” 
pointing to Mary with much contempt; “and we have a 
right to know why she is to be preferred to us. I don’t 
think she can bribe very high,” she added ironically; 
“although we suppose that gentleman,” pointing to 
Mark, “can say why he has chosen to show her such 
special favour.” 

“AVhy, ma'am,” said Mark with great good humour, 
“you can’t all marry the gentleman: he did not adver- 
tise for more than one wife, and having secured that 
one, he is content. I am sorry that you should be dis- 
appointed. But you, ma’am,” addressing the gorgon, — 
“you are young enough and handsome enough to be 
independent of advertising husbands; therefore, why 
should you be angry? And you,” addressing the squat 
lady, — “it is evident that, happen what will, nothing 
can keep you out of spirits.” And then, making his 
bow to the teeth, he said, “As for you, ma’am, — you 
can never fear a rival, for in spite of everybody’s teeth, 
yours must ever have the preference.” 

With these and such like words he succeeded in 
pacifying them; and having once cleared the office of 
their presence, he was able to devote himself to Mary 
and her aunts, to whom he gave every assurance that 
before the next day was over, Abel would be set at li- 


144 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


berty, his debts paid, and the family installed in a com- 
fortable house. He took it upon himself to make all 
these arrangements, and informed them that, as soon as 
Mr. Fairfax should be returned from Mr. Woodby, he 
would wait upon them with the proper deed, which 
being signed by Mary, would bind her to Sir Peregrine 
Oldbourn as his wife, and secure to her the immediate 
advantages of that position. 

Mr. Fairfax in the course of the morning walked to 
Baker-street; and inquiring for either Mr. or Mrs. 
Woodby, was introduced to the latter, who was seated 
in her drawing-room with her two daughters, together 
with our old acquaintance Lady Thomson and two 
gentlemen. Being unknown to them in person, he was 
received with that suspicion with which people are apt 
to view a stranger; but when he unfolded the object of 
his errand, he was not long in obtaining the. most fixed 
attention to what he had to say. 

“I believe,” he said, addressing himself to Mrs. 
Woodby, “that you are acquainted with Miss Mary 
Allnutt?” 

Upon hearing these preliminary words, every one 
present listened attentively, and Mrs. Woodby answer- 
ed, “Yes, sir, I am.” 

“May I take the liberty of inquiring of you what may 
be her general character?” 

“Her character?” said Mrs. Woodby in a tone of 
surprise. “As a governess, do you ask?” 

“More likely as a housemaid,” said Lady Thomson, 
tossing up her nose. 

The Miss Woodbys laughed, and said she would 
make an excellent lady’s maid. 

Mr. Fairfax said, “It is for neither of those charac- 
ters: I merely wish to know her general character for 
respectability of conduct, temper, and the qualities 
which constitute what is called an amiable woman.” 

“Oh, indeed, as to that,” said Mrs. Woodby, “I be- 
lieve the girl is well enough. I know that she belongs 
to a pair of silly old aunts, who have brought her up so 
much like a fool that she can’t cry bo to a goose; and to 
a poor wretch of an uncle, who borrows money and 
won’t pay his debts.— But pray,” inquired Mrs. Wood- 
by, “who sent you to make these inquiries? none of the 
family have been in my service; they lived in our 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


145 

neighbourhood in the country, where they were oblio-ed 
to sell all they had and leave it, and I know nothin^ 
more of them. I really don’t see why I should be call* 
ed upon to give the girl a character.” 

“The truth is,” said Mr. Fairfax, “that a circum- 
stance has occurred which is of consequence to Miss 
Allnutt’s views in life, in which it became necessary 
that a reference of this sort should be made; and as she 
has no friends in London besides you and jour family, 
she ventured to make use of your name.” 

“Friends indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Woodby. 

“She is certainly going out as governess,” said Anne 
Woodby. 

“Perhaps she is going on the stage,” said Ellen. 

‘No, my dear, that can’t be,” remarked Lady Thom- 
son; “what can an actress want with a character?” 

“Allow me to say,” said one of the gentlemen start- 
ing from his seat and addressing himself to Mr. Fair- 
fax, “that the sort of undefined, and apparently un- 
willing approval of Miss Allnutt’s character, which you 
have just heard, is not only an act of injustice to her, 
but one of reproach to the person who gave it. Miss 
Allnutt, sir, is as superior to the generality of her sex 
in the qualities of her mind as she surpasses them in 
beauty of person. She is as pure as a child, and as full 
of fortitude as a martyr. She may have heard of vice, 
but she can only know it by name. She is so little sel- 
fish, that, although she has a right to the adoration of 
mankind, she requires every one to be preferred before 
her. She does not know what deceit means — she is the 
very symbol of truth and'sincerity. At the same time, 
every action is so much under the influence of pru- 
dence, that while she is an example of everything that 
is excellent, she does not allow her superiority to be 
even guessed at. Happy indeed will be the man who 
calls her wife! and happy are those who live under the 
influence of her charming disposition and endearing 
manners!” 

“Well, I declare, my lord!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood- 
by as she addressed Lord Demone; “who would ever 
have expected this from you? Have not you always been 
the first to laugh at the uncle and aunts, and to call 
them names?” 

“But the first to admire the niece,” retorted Lord 

VOL. ii. — 13 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


146 


Demone. “I repeat again, that she is the most perfect 
woman I have ever known, or conceived could exist in 
this wicked world.” 

“When my lord does admire,” said Lady Thomson, 
with a sarcastic sneer and a toss of the head, “he does 
it with a grace peculiar to himself.” 

“I suppose you mean to say, in City language,” said 
Lord Demone, “ ‘with a grace beyond the reach of 
* A’ar/:’ but in this case you are mistaken, — I am per- 
fectly sincere in what I say.” 

“That was well put in,” said Simpleton Sharp; “I 
never thought of that before: that City h has done 
wonders!” 

“I am very much obliged to you, my lord,” said Mr. 
Fairfax, when he had discovered who he was, “for this 
expression of your opinion — I cannot wish for a more 
satisfactory character;” and he was rising to take his 
leave, when Mrs. Woodby, with great importunity of 
manner, stopped him and said, 

“Now you really must tell us who you are, and what 
has been the purpose of your inquiry — indeed you must; 
you can’t come putting us to all this trouble without 
some return — it wouldn’t be fair.” 

“My name is Fairfax; I have no need of making a 
secret of a plain fact,” said the lawyer: “I am solici- 
tor for Sir Peregrine Oldbourn; he is shortly to arrive 
in England, when he will marry Miss Allnutt, to whom 
he is to be this day affianced, and she will then become 
Lady Oldbourn.” 


“Mary Allnutt, Lady Oldbourn!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Woodby with wonder and mortification in her looks. 

“It can’t be!” said Lady Thomson. 

“Why, she will become the wife of a baronet, and 
one of the richest of his order,” said Lord Demone 
with exultation; “and she will be the mistress of Old- 
bourn -hall and of untold wealth.” 

“Whoever thought of this!” said Anne Woodby, as 
if gross injustice had been done to herself. “What will 
Tom say?” 

“I wonder where Edward Manby can be?” said 
Ellen. J 

“But how can this happen,” said Mrs. Woodby, 
with wicked joy in her looks, “when her uncle is now 
lying in prison, at the suit of our son Tom, because he 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


14 7 

can’t repay him a miserable hundred pounds. Surely 
Sir Peregrine ought to know that: is he aware that 
these Allnuts are actual paupers, and only fit for the 
workhouse?” 

“Your son will this day be paid,” said Fairfax. 
“Mr. Abel Allnutt will this day be liberated from 
^prison, and the poverty and miseries of the family will 
from this day cease.” Having said this with great em- 
phasis and with a tone of exultation, he added with 
much ceremony, “I have the honour to wish you a very 
good morning; upon which, making his bow, he left the 
house; Lord Demone and his companion soon after 
following. 

“Did you ever hear any thing like that girl’s luck!” 
said Mrs. Woodby to Lady Thomson after a long 
pause. 

“I never did,” said Lady Thomson: “but I must do 
myself the justice to say, that I always said she was 
handsome, although I thought the aunts were poor 
creatures.” 

“I always liked Aunt Fanny,” said Anne; “and 
Uncle Abel was ever good-natured to me.” 

“Old Barbara is a well-meaning creature,” said Mrs. 
Woodby, “although she insists a little too much upon 
keeping old men and women warm. I suppose we shall 
have them back at Ivycote.” 

“I always make it a rule,” said Lady Thomson, 
“never to think ill of any one because they are poor: I 
think we had better call upon the Allnutts as soon as 
we know where they live.” 

“Now I recollect it,” said Anne, “there is a purse 
which I forgot to finish, and which I will send Mary 
immediately.” 

“Do; my dear,” said her mother; “and write a note 
to Barbarossa, and ask her to dine whenever it is 
agreeable; and inquire particularly after Abel’s old 
cough — do.” 


148 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Ji release from prison. The struggles of virtuous self- 
denial. 

As soon as Mr. Fairfax returned to his office, he com- 
missioned Mark Woodcock to take all the necessary 
steps for releasing Abel from prison, and for removing 
him and his family into an appropriate habitation; but, 
as a preliminary, to secure Mary’s signature to a deed 
which would bind her to Sir Peregrine Oldbourn as his 
wife, whensoever he should appear to claim her as 
such. 

Mary was awaiting the arrival of this moment with 
impatience, dreading lest her resolution should be over- 
turned by the many suggestions of her imagination. She 
felt strong in the purity of her intentions, and in the 
conviction of doing right; but she had to contend 
against fearful opposition in her own breast. Edward’s 
image was constantly before her in the attitude of sup- 
plication, and Sir Peregrine’s as that of an odious ty- 
rant. She longed for Mark’s appearance with the docu- 
ment which she was to sign, when the excitement in 
which she lived might be abated by an irretrievable act; 
for the fever of indecision is more frequently allayed by 
a knowledge of the worst than by remaining in a state 
of doubt. 

At length, when Mark really appeared, instead of 
meeting him, as she intended, with a cheerful counte- 
nance and an unflinching hand, the blood left her heart, 
and she fell into so long and painful a swoon, that her 
aunts became alarmed for her safety. They hung over 
her with solicitous affection; whilst Mark, with the deed 
in one hand and the pen in the other, shook his head 
and said, “There must be something more in this than 
meets the eye.” 

At length, when restored to herself she had swallow- 
ed a cordial, seeing Mark in the same attitude, she ex- 
claimed, “For pity’s sake, sir, let me sign ! Excuse my 
weakness — let us not delay a moment!” He placed 
the parchment before her, gave the pen into her hand; 
the proper witnesses were present; when, after a pause, 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


149 

in which she mentally prayed for support, she signed 
her name. She then immediately retired to her room, 
where she passed the rest of the day in constant prayer, 
which she had learned from the experience of misfor- 
tune to be the only effectual means of soothing; the 
mind. ° 

Mark then proceeded to the lodgings of Tom Wood- 
by, whom he condemned to do that which he willingly 
would have refused, — namely, release his victim from 
debt, which he did upon receiving the full amount of 
his demand. We do not wish to detain our readers 
with an account of the base feelings which arose in the 
breast of this wicked gentleman when he was informed 
of the turn affairs had taken; but it was delightful to 
Mark to exercise an authority productive of so much 
good, whilst he excited an impotent rage in one who 
only practised evil. Leaving him to gulp down his mor- 
tification, Mark proceeded to secure a house in Gower- 
street — a sort of frontier position on the confines of gen- 
tility; which having done, he returned to give an account 
of his proceedings to his chief, who forthwith authorized 
him to conduct the whole family to their new habita- 
tion. 

We have long abstained from noticing Uncle Abel, 
who has undergone at our hands nearly the same neglect 
that the modest and retiring man does from the world. 
His life in prison had been one of patient endurance, of 
humble resignation, and of cheering meditation upon 
the promises of Christianity. Such a being, totally 
divested as he was of every exterior attraction, is most 
likely to pass through the world unnoticed; and except- 
ing in the possession of that sunshine of the breast which 
exceeds all price, and with which he was specially 
blessed, he could boast of no possession which insures 
what is commonly called enjoyment. 

In the prison, his only recreation was the conversa- 
tion of his sisters and niece, who devoted as much of 
their time to him as they could abstract from the neces- 
sity of gaining a livelihood; and at this precise moment, 
owing to the events we have described, he had been 
more tiian usually deprived of their society. This had 
surprised him, and he had become anxious to see them; 
when, on the morning after all the arrangements were 
made, he perceived Mark, accompanied by both his sis- 
13 * 


150 


ABET- AT.T.NTTTT. 


ters and his niece, at the wicket, begging permission to 
see him. This circumstance struck him at once as fore- 
boding something new; and as soon as Mark exhibited 
the order for his freedom, his mind was so confused by 
a variety of emotions, that it was long before he could 
give utterance in words to the gratitude which beamed 
in his heart. 

Unwilling in the face of the prisoners to describe the 
circumstances which led to his release, (for he -was 
still ignorant of Mary’s intended marriage, ) his sisters 
exhorted him to lose no time in accompanying them to 
the house prepared for their reception; and he left his 
late miserable dwelling with the same equanimity 
which he had preserved on entering it, though not 
without a mental thanksgiving for so unexpected a 
mercy. When he found himself at liberty — restored 
to the open street, leaving the prison -gates behind him, 
he felt a renovation which was productive of buoyant 
spirits, and contributed to restore that strength which 
had been much impaired by confinement. During 
their progress in the hackney-coach, he became anxious 
to know the reason of this change; but he was not al- 
lowed to be fully informed until he reached his new 
home. He perceived by Mary’s melancholy look and 
thoughtful manner, that something must have taken 
place which involved her happiness; but far was he 
from contemplating the possibility of her marriage. 

At length they reached the abode in question pre- 
pared for them. It was one of those houses in which 
everything smelt new, in which every inch of ma- 
hogany was polished up to mirror point, and wher£ 
every chair was fixed to its place with mathematical 
precision. Words cannot convey the delight of Aunts 
Bab and Fanny, nor the feeling of gratitude which Abel 
felt, at such a restoration to the world’s comforts after 
their recent life of toil, pain, and privation. Mary’s 
dejected mind was cheated out of its misery by the 
pleasure she felt at seeing her relations happy, and by 
the secret satisfaction of feeling that she was the cause 
of the change; and she would have been happy herself, 
but for a secret bodement, which made her dread lest 
the beautiful picture now before her eyes should con- 
tain a hideous reverse, which she felt would sooner or 
later be exhibited to her. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


151 


Abel being still to be satisfied as to the cause of this 
hitherto mysterious change, Mary, who had undertaken 
to disclose it, taking him into a separate room, seated 
herself by him, and straightway informed him of every 
circumstance relating to the engagement she had form- 
ed. Abel looked her steadily in the face, and whilst 
his heart dilated with gratitude at the knowledge that 
it was to her alone he was indebted for his present well- 
being; still her looks told him, that however great his 
happiness might be, hers was not without alloy. She 
endeavoured to conceal her real feelings; but he was 
too quick-sighted not to discover that she was playing 
a part: for whilst an artificial smile shone on her face, 
her breast heaved with unfeigned sighs. She made 
use of every innocent artifice to induce her uncle to 
believe that what she had done was not so utterly hate- 
ful to her as he might have supposed: but still he was 
not satisfied, and cross-questioned her so pertinacious- 
ly, that at length she fairly burst into tears, avowing 
that his doubts were in part true, but entreating him to 
question her no further. She made him aware that 
what she had done was not now to be undone; that she 
had bound herself by a formal deed to perform certain 
duties, in consequence of which she had received and 
was receiving certain benefits; and therefore it was no 
longer time to discuss whether she had done well or 
ill — by her act she must abide; and, with God’s assist- 
ance, she hoped that she would be able to conduct her- 
self without reproach in the new situation in which she 
was about to be placed. 

Abel, seeing how much she was in earnest, no longer 
persisted in ascertaining the secret feelings of her heart: 
but their interview had scarcely ceased, before a cir- 
cumstance took place, which effectually brought to 
light what poor Mary had so anxiously endeavoured to 
conceal. 

Mark Woodcock, perplexed at not receiving any 
tidings of Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, (although from the 
nature of the man he might have expected as much,) 
had applied at the post office, hoping to discover some 
letter wrongly directed from him: but instead of a let- 
ter addressed to himself or to Mr. Fairfax, in the dead- 
letter office he found one addressed to Abel, which from 
the variety of scrawls over it, showing the various 


1 52 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


places it had visited in search of its owner, announced 
that it had lain long unclaimed. Mark did not delay a 
moment in taking it to Abel, little conscious of the mis- 
chief he was about to produce. Abel, after looking at 
it for some time, at length exclaimed, “From Edward 
Manby, I declare!” Mary’s countenance fell as she 
heard these words, and the colour forsook her cheeks. 
Barbara and Fanny were also present. 

“My dear Mary,” said her uncle, “here is a letter 
for you also inclosed.” As he handed it over to her, 
he did not perceive how much her hand shook, nor how 
deadly a paleness overcast her features. She went to 
a distance to hide her emotion, and opening the letter 
with trepidation, read those warm and overflowing 
effusions with which the reader is already acquainted, 
written by Edward Manby on his departure from Liver- 
pool. Her eyes could not second her desire to read 
the whole letter, for, suffused by rising tears, they but 
half performed their office; and with the letter half 
read, she hastily tottered out of the room with the in- 
tention of shutting herself up in her bed-room. 

She had scarcely closed the door, ere the noise of a 
heavy fall was heard on the staircase. Barbara, Fanny, 
and Abel rushed out with one accord to see what had 
happened; when, to their horror, they discovered their 
too sensitive niece in a deep swoon, with her head rest- 
ing on the balusters, lying her whole length on the 
ground, and blood flowing from a wound she had re- 
ceived in falling. In a state bordering upon madness, 
they raised her up, and straightway deposited her in 
bed. Abel picked up the letter which had fallen from 
her hand; and judging that its contents must have 
caused her present seizure, he hastily glanced his eye 
over it, and there he discovered what he had long sus- 
pected — how much she and Edward were attached to 
each other. His sisters were also soon made acquaint- 
ed with this circumstance; and then, and not till then, 
did the whole mystery of her despondent state break 
upon their minds. 

“My God!” exclaimed Abel; “and has she indeed 
sacrificed herself for us! Let me return to prison, and 
let me die rather than that this dear — this noble creature 
should thus suffer! I will immediately proceed to seek 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


153 


Mr. Fairfax, and lay the whole of this sad story before 
him, and see whether it would not be possible to annul 
the engagement into which she has involved herself.” 

Barbary and Fanny shook their heads, not knowing 
what to say; but they insisted upon the necessity of 
sending for a physician, who, as soon as he saw his 
patient, pronounced her to be in a high state of fever. 
This melancholy intelligence put every other thought 
out of their heads for the present, and they all three 
united their utmost exertions to tend her with the most 
unremitting attention. That long restraint which she 
had laboured to place upon her feelings — that uncer- 
tainty in which she had lived concerning Ed ward — those 
fearful apprehensions that she was preparing a hopeless 
state of wretchedness for him as well as for herself, — 
all conspired to bring on this crisis, and the brain, from 
the bewildering variety of intense emotions which at 
the moment of the reception of the letter assailed it, 
became inflamed and soon announced its derangement. 
It was piteous to behold one so young, so beautiful, 
and so innocent, struggling with insanity 1 That form 
and those features, so full of grace and gentleness, were 
now torn by the throes and contortions of madness. 
But perhaps it was still more piteous to observe the de- 
spair — the obsorbing despair of the woe-stricken rela- 
tions. They fell at once from the height of the greatest 
prosperity to the depths of the greatest misery. Abel’s 
habitual resignation gave way before the deep depres- 
sion of his spirits, and he bemoaned himself at those sad 
inflictions which had led to Mary’s present state; he 
could with difficulty restrain himself from venting aloud 
the bitterness of his anguish. Aunt Barbara, aided by the 
zeal of old Betty, was the only one. of the three who 
had sufficient presence of mind and power of action to 
perform the duties of a nurse, and to see that the pre- 
scriptions of the physician were properly administered; 
for poor Fanny, as inefficient in adversity as she was 
wont to be frivolous in the sunshine of prosperity, was 
utterly helpless. 

Various were the turns which the disorder took. 
Sometimes the name of Edward would come to her lips, 
when she would hold imaginary conversations with 
him, and cry and laugh by turns; then she would ima- 
gine herself to be governor of a prison, and order all 


154 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


the prison-doors to be thrown open and the prisoners 
set at liberty. Afterwards she raved with every ap- 
pearance of fury at some fancied injustice, and imme- 
diately after relapsed into the most womanish and en- 
dearing fondness for some imaginary benefit $ but Ed- 
ward’s image was the most frequent on her mind, and 
she constantly appeared to screen him from some im- 
pending evil. 

It would be in vain to describe all the vagaries and 
wanderings of a disordered brain — that strange piece 
of mechanism by which man holds his privileges as a 
reasonable being; but it will be sufficient to say, that 
in the case of poor Mary, that organ having been tho- 
roughly ransacked by every diversity of aberration, at 
length showed symptoms of giving way to the skill of 
the physician, who, when lie felt the uncertain, flutter- 
ing pulse, smiled as he foretold an approaching pros- 
tration of strength, which he asserted would mark the 
abatement of the fever. Abel at this intelligence 
awoke from despondency, and restored to his sense of 
a superintending providence, retreated to his own room 
to pour forth prayers for her recovery. 

From the moment of her falling into an almost inani- 
mate state, the doctor, calculating upon the power of a 
youthful and hitherto unimpaired constitution, an- 
nounced her speedy convalescence, provided she was 
kept perfectly quiet and protected from all exciting 
causes. And he was not mistaken. Day after day her 
mind gradually though slowly was restored to itself;— 
her perceptions became correct — her observations show- 
ed that the crisis was over, and that she was restored to 
the world of reasonable beings. The first word she 
uttered which had the appearance of consciousness was 
heard by the faithful old Betty, who in her joy ex- 
claimed, “Bless her little heart, she has iust said, 
‘Oh!’” 

“Has she?” said Aunt Bab; “let me run and tell 
Abel. — The dear creature has just said, ‘Oh!’ Come, 
come!” she exclaimed to her brother, who, with out- 
stretched hands and a face full of rapture, followed his 
sister to the bedside, and there to his delight he heard 
the scarcely audible voice of his beloved Mary saying, 
“Dear Uncle Abel!” 

From that moment she began to mend; and the un- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


155 


remitting attentions and care with which her uncle 
and aunts watched over her, were gradually repaid by 
the delight of seeing her restored to life after they had 
given up every hope. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Abel AllnuWs disinterestedness. He wishes to return 
to his prison. 

Abel and his sisters, whilst they tended their niece 
during their convalescence, were extremely careful in 
following the doctor’s directions never to advert in the 
slightest degree to the cause that had brought on her 
illness. Neither the name of Edward, nor that of Sir 
Peregrine Oldbourn, nor even that of her father, were 
pronounced before her; but she was aware that Mark 
Woodcock never passed a day without making in- 
quiries. 

One morning, after Mark’s visit had been announced, 
and when allusion was made to the goodness of his 
heart, and to the various good qualities which he pos- 
sessed, Abel and Barbara being present, Mary of her 
own accord, and in a collected and firm manner, said: 
“My dear uncle and aunt, I fear that I have caused you 
considerable trouble and uneasiness. I have betrayed 
great weakness — that I know; but, thank God! let us 
hope that it is now all over. I have prayed earnestly 
for more strength of mind, and I feel that my prayers are 
heard. We may now talk with safety upon my future 
views and my future duties, for I am conscious that I 
dare meet them with courage.” 

Abel and his sister looked at each other with dismay, 
fearing the consequences of such a communication,— 
for Mary was still extremely feeble, — and the former 
instantly evaded the conversation she would have led 
to, by saying that it would be time when she was quite 
restored to resume the subject; but up to this moment, 
the doctor had only enjoined one precaution, and that 
was quiet, — constant unbroken quiet! 


156 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Mary would have continued; but both Abel and her 
aunt positively refusing to hear her, she was obliged to 
submit to their wishes, and she endeavoured to divert 
her mind with less exciting subjects. But this hint of the 
state of her mind made Abel determine immediately 
to put his original intention into execution, of an- 
nulling Mary’s engagement with Sir Peregrine Old- 
bourn. To this effect, he sought the first opportu- 
nity, of locking himself up with Mark, in order to con- 
sult with him upon the fittest steps to take. He began by 
expatiating upon the excellency of Mary’s character — 
a subject upon which he would never cease to talk, and 
asserted that it was entirely and solely in order to re- 
lease him from prison, and to place him and his sisters 
in a comfortable position, that she had applied to Mr. 
Fairfax; — that in doing this she had committed the 
greatest violence upon her own feelings; for it was now 
plain — and it was a discovery they had only made at 
the moment of illness — that her affections were fixed 
upon another man. Who that was, he said it was not 
his intention to disclose, out of delicacy to all parties; 
but he was certain that if this engagement with Sir Pe- 
regrine Oldbourn were allowed to exist, so strong, as it 
had been proved, were her affections, that it would be 
the source of lasting misery and mischief to all con- 
cerned. He therefore entreated him to reflect how the 
engagement might be annulled. 

Mark, who was one of the best natured, although one 
of the vainest of men, had never quite made up his 
mind, ever since he had known Mary, and particularly 
since the scene which had taken place at the signature 
of the deed, whether or not he was the individual upon 
whom she had set her affections. This excess of va- 
nity (and how often does it not play the same trick to 
its ridiculous votaries!) entirely made him overlook 
Edward Manby, whom he but slightly knew, although 
of whom he had heard much, and thus his vanity made 
him conclude that he was himself the object of ^Mary’s 
love. 

There he was, seated opposite the anxious Abel, 
looking uncommonly pathetic as a swain, but very offi- 
cial and business-like as an attorney’s clerk. Called 
upon to give an opinion upon a point of law, he sunk 
his finer feelings for the moment, and having cleared 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


157 

his voice, he said, that he of course could affirm nothing 
positive as long as he had a superior to whom he must 
appeal: but this he must say, that the question was full 
of perplexity; that deeds were difficult things to set 
aside when they involved penalties; and that although 
Mr. Fairfax might be very well inclined to do anything 
to give pleasure to Miss Mary or her friends, still, act- 
ing as executor to a will, he had but one course to pur- 
sue, namely, to put the testator’s wishes into effect. 
These, however, he asserted, were only opinions of his 
own, which, as they might be put aside by those of Mr. 
Fairfax, he recommended Abel immediately to seek 
that gentleman in person, and he avowed himself ready 
to accompany him there. 

Abel without further reflection acceded to Mark’s 
offer, and soon he was in the presence of the solicitor. 
When Mr. Fairfax had heard Abel’s story, he confirm- 
ed Mark’s opinion, adding, that annulling the deed to 
which Mark was a party, putting aside the heavy pen- 
alty to which she was subject, was a matter of consi- 
derable and even vital consequence to his client; for 
should a proper wife not have been provided for him at 
the moment of his arrival — an event which might now 
be expected to take place at any moment, it might in- 
volve the loss of the whole of the Oldbourn estate. He, 
Mr. Fairfax, therefore, acting as executor and trustee, 
and as the friend of Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, must first 
consult his interests before he could listen to Abel’s 
proposal. Then, putting on a smile, he said: “ But, 
after all, Mr. Allnutt, are you consulting your niece’s 
real interests in thus endeavouring to destroy a most 
advantageous match — one which ensures her handsome 
settlements and a brilliant position, besides the posses- 
sion of a very amiable man, which Sir Peregrine assur- 
edly is? — and are you not merely lending yourself to a 
girlish whim? for, in truth, it seems that she answered 
our advertisement entirely of her own accord, and she 
therefore could not have been very deeply smitten with 
the person in question. 

Abel assured Mr. Fairfax that the step which he had 
now taken was entirely unknown to her; and although 
aware that he should be obliged perhaps to return to 
prison, yet he would much rather incur that jienalty 
than run any risk of endangering his niece’s existence. 
VOL. ii. — 14 


158 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Mr. Fairfax in answer gave him but little hopes of ac- 
ceding to his wishes, and hinted that the utmost he 
could expect might be from an appeal to Sir Peregrine 
in person; for should he arrive within a few days, then 
time enough might still be left to seek another wife. 

With this answer, Abel returned whence he came, 
deeply cogitating upon the chances which might pre- 
vent Mary from becoming the wife of Sir Peregrine. 
Ere he reached the house, he perceived a very fine car- 
riage standing at the door; and when he entered the 
drawing-room, to his great surprise, he found Lady 
Thomson and Mrs. Goold Woodby and her two daugh- 
ters seated in grand array before Aunts Barbara and 
Fanny. 

As soon as he appeared, to his confusion the visiters 
all rose from their seats, and with a warmth of con- 
gratulation which he had never before witnessed, rush- 
ed towards him and overpowered him with fine speeches 
concerning Mary’s future prospects. 

“ We have thought it our duty,” said Lady Thom- 
son, “ to congratulate you on this happy occasion. We 
have heard of Mary’s good luck with the sincerest satis- 
faction; and it is a duty I owe to myself to say, that I 
never heard of anything m my life which gave me 
greater pleasure.” 

“Yes,” cried Mrs. Goold Woodby, having tried to 
thrust in her speech during Lady Thomson’s effusion, 
“ we came off the moment we heard it. It would have 
been shameful in us, such old friends too, not to come 
and give you joy. Believe me, we were not slow in 
putting in a good word, when Mr. Fairfax came to ask 
us about character and ail that sort of thing; and we are 
quite delighted to find that it has turned out so well. I 
declare I am quite as happy as if it had happened to 
one of my own girls, for Mary has always been a great 
favourite of mine.” 

“Although her prospects look brilliant,” said Abel, 
shaking his head, “yet in truth she would have been 
happier, and so should we all, had she remained as she 
was.” 

“This you can’t say from your heart,” replied Lady 
Thomson: “for does she not acquire wealth, rank, and 
title; and, let me ask you, would you deprive her of 
them? I can tell you. a title is not so easily obtained 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


159 

now-a-days. I owe it to myself to say, that my late 
Sir Peter had the promise of a baronetcy before he died; 
and although, as tar as sound goes, one ladyship is as 
good as another; yet I’m not too proud to own, that a 
knight’s lady is as little to be compared to a baronet’s, 
as a cotton gown is to a satiii one. No, no, don’t think 
to make me believe you don’t wish your niece to be a 
baronet’s lady.” 

“And, although she will get her title by an advertise- 
ment,” said Mrs. Woodby, “yet who is to know that? 
She will be as good a lady as the best of them. And, 
though she is going to marry a man she has never seen, 
who may be as old as the hills and as ugly as sin for 
what she knows, yet, what will that signify after the 
first fortnight. She will be mighty happy, I dare say, 
and well she deserves it too. 1 always said Mary was 
a nice, dear girl, and fit to sit at the head of any table.” 

Aunts Bab and Fanny, who at the first announcement 
of their visiters were taken quite aback by an honour 
so little expected, scarcely knew how to look; but their 
hearts were too full of the milk of human kindness to 
know how to be repulsive, and they could no more bear 
malice than they could condescend to commit an act of 
meanness: they therefore received them with their usual 
frankness of manner. Softened by the tone of adula- 
tion which their visiters adopted, they humbled them- 
selves the more they were exalted. 

“You are very kind to think so well of our poor 
Mary,” said Aunt Bab; “I fear a high rank would never 
suit the lowliness of her mind.” 

“La!” said Mrs. Woodby, “how can you talk so? I 
declare Miss Mary is fit to be a queen, she is so supe- 
rior: — she is almost as tall as our Anne, and a great dead 
broader across the shoulders than Ellen there, who. is 
a poor thing after all.” 

“Indeed,” said Anne Woodby, “she’s much taller 
than I am: and when she is her ladyship, will be far 
, taller and far handsomer than any person we know; al- 
though we do know Lady Thorofield, who is a peeress, 
besides Lady Thomson, and several other ladies.” 

“Ah, she is a sweet creature, and that’s the truth of 
it!” said Lady Thomson. 

“Yes, so dignified, and will look the thing well!” 


160 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“Remarkably well in feathers!” said Anne. 

“With her hair parted,” said Ellen. 

“Sir Peregrine is a happy man to have got such a 
wife!” said Lady Thomson. 

“We don’t know what sort of a looking man Sir Pe- 
regrine is,” said Fanny,* '“except that he has a long 
face and looks like a wild Oriental, as Mark W oodcock 
says.” 

“You may be certain that an old baronet, as he is,” 
said Lady Thomson, “must look well. My Sir Peter, 
who was only a knight, was always reckoned like 
George the First.” 

“Sir Peregrine, I hear, is not so old as that comes 
to,” said Mrs. Woodby. “Mr. Woodby is only a bit 
past fifty, and we haven’t a thought of calling him old 
yet, although one side of his head is grey and the other 
grizzle; — besides, the calves of his legs now are as good 
as ever.” 

“A man may be an old baronet,” said Lady Thom- 
son in a tone of superiority, “although he may be a 
young man. The Baronetage will Settle that ques- 
tion.” 

“I see,” said Mrs. Woodby, “you were talking of 
his creation, when I was talking of his real years, which, 
I believe, are more than Mary’s by a score, sweet crea- 
ture!” 

“If minds are congenial,” said Abel, “age does not 
signify so very much as the world generally imagines.” 

“The high principles which you possess,” said Lady 
Thomson to Abel, “would make you contented under 
all circumstances. I wonder you do not take to the 
church, now that you have such a powerful nephew, 
who has — so I hear — several rich livings to give away.” 

“If our Tom now had a turn for the church,” said 
Mrs. Woodby, “he would have had a good chance. 
Perhaps you may make a Bishop of Edward Manby, 
who is a friend of yours, I know, though we have not 
seen him for many a long day; and then he might 
marry Ellen there.” 

“I don’t like the church,” said Ellen, without a 
blush, (for the world had long driven such amiable tell- 
tales from her cheeks:) “I hate a man who always 
dresses in black and must always be good.” 

“You’re a fool for your pains!” said her mother. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


161 


"What signifies a man’s black coat, when he can give 
you two thousand a year, your coach, and everything 
handsome? That’s what your fine gentlemen with gold 
lace and long spurs can’t do, let them strain ever so 
hard,” 

The conversation continued in this wise for some 
time longer, when it concluded, on the part of the 
Woodbys, by protestations of friendship, of devotion, 
of a desire to renew former intimacy; and on the part 
of the Allnutts, with simple thanks and expressions of 
good-will. The visiters would have repaired to Mary’s 
bed -room to nurse her, had they been allowed: Anne 
offered herself to sit up all night with her, — Ellen 
to read to her, — Mrs. Woodby to mix up her medi- 
cines; — they then promised to return the next day, to 
drive out Aunt Bab and Fanny; invited them to dine, 
and, in short, so loaded them with caresses, that the 
.adulation was even too excessive for the simple-hearted 
spinsters to overlook. When they were fairly out of 
the house, Bab exclaimed, “Did any one ever see the 
like of that! What can have made them love us so 
much all of a sudden?” 

“I think,” said Fanny, “they might as well have 
begged pardon for Tom’s behaviour.” 

“Let us hope,” said Abel, “they will ever find us 
ready to pardon whatever may have been his or any 
other man’s ill-conduct. I am ready to forgive him; 
if he as easily can forgive himself, it will be well. — But 
let us think no more of that; our endeavours must now 
be directed towards Mary’s future well-being.” He 
then gave an account of his interview with Mr. Fair- 
fax, and described the endeavours he had made to an- 
nul Mary’s engagement. 

“What!” said Bab, "would you send yourself back 
to prison again, and us to beg our bread!” 

“Then what will the Woodbys say!” said Fanny; 
“and Lady Thomson too? they won’t come inviting us 
to dine and drive any more — we shall be worse off than 
ever.” 

“Let them say and do what they like,” said Abel 
with spirit; “let the world go its own pace, we have 
no business with it. Our business is to do our duty, 
and not allow selfish motives to prevent us from re- 
deeming our dear noble-hearted Mary from a life of 
14 * 


162 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


The clays of our youth are gone by; her life 



Shall we, in repugnance to all her 


come. 


feelings, and in direct opposition to a virtuous and 
well-grounded affection which she has conceived for 
for one in every way worthy of her, — shall we allow 
her to sacrifice herself for our advantage?” 

“But, my dear Abel,” said Bab, “does it not stand 
to reason,” (taking up her old characteristic phrase, 
which she had lost in her misfortunes,) “that if Mary 
was to see you once more in prison, your health de- 
clining, and we paupers and beggars, relying upon the 
bounty of others, — does it not stand to reason that she 
would be infinitely more wretched than if allowed to 
work out the schemes she herself has set on foot, al- 
though it does involve the sacrifice of her own best af- 
fections? Believe me, she has strength of mind suffi- 
cient to meet such a sacrifice: her recent illness was 
owing to the violent state of excitement in which she 
had lately lived, keeping that secret which had she re- 
vealed would have given ease and freedom to her 
thoughts, and relief to her heart. Now, all being 
cleared up, her mind will gain strength, and she will 
be cheered by the delightful consciousness that she is 
doing good to those she most loves in this world.” 

Fanny applauded this speech both by words and looks, 
for she always submitted to the superiority of her sis- 
ter’s common sense. Abel, too, felt the force of her 
words; but still he would have been happier were he al- 
lowed to to be the sufferer instead of his adored niece. 
He concluded the conference by saying, that things at 
present must remain as they are, for Mr. Fairfax had 
asserted that he could alter nothing, and that the matter 
now rested entirely with Sir Peregrine Oldbourn. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


163 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

J2 series of adventures portending ill lack , end in good 
fortune. 

Edward Manby’s failure in overtaking John Allnutt 
at Acapulco was followed up by a succession of misfor- 
tunes which ultimately drove him back to England. 

Having watched the vanishing of the ship behind a 
distant headland, he sat down in despair, for at once he 
perceived it was out of the question to overtake the ob- 
ject of his search. Once launched into the Pacific, with 
a fair wind driving the ship from the coast, by what pos- 
sibility could he hope to find him? He therefore sub- 
mitted to his disappointment with the best temper he 
could, and soon after turned his steps towards the city 
of Mexico. There he sought employment in the service 
of one of the mining companies, and had succeeded in 
securing that object at Rio del Monte, when an accident 
occurred which prevented his immediately taking ad- 
vantage of it. 

Walking through the streets of Mexico, ignorant of 
the manners and superstition of the people, he met the 
procession of the Host, bound to the house of a dying 
man about to receivelhe extreme unction. The custom 
on such occasions is for every one to take off his hat and 
kneel until the coach in which the lioly wafer is carried 
has passed. He did neither, but stood looking on with 
his hands behind his back, stopping the while near the 
shop of a shoemaker. Suddenly he heard certain shouts, 
and observed the faces of all present excited into rage, 
totally ignorant that he was the object of the commo- 
tion $ and, before he was aware of the danger, he felt 
himself roughly seized by the collar, receiving the stab 
of a sharp instrument in the side at the same time. He 
staggered and fell, and looking round, perceived a fero- 
cious-looking fellow brandishing the bloody awl in his 
hand, with which he had committed the deed. This 
was the shoemaker, a fanatic, who, having seen Ed- 
ward’s attitude, which he took for contumely, darted 


164 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


forwards with zealous fury to avenge the cause of his 
religion. 

The wounded man might have remained there and 
bled to death for what the bystanders cared, had he not 
been rescued by one of his countrymen, who, acquaint- 
ed with the language and the people, immediately con- 
veyed him to a place of safety, treated him with kind- 
ness, and straightway informed the English minister of 
the circumstance. Having thus laid the foundation for 
a warm discussion upon international law between the 
diplomatist and the government to which he was ac- 
credited, the kind stranger continued his attentions, and 
was rewarded by seeing his friend convalescent, before 
it was decided whether the shoemaker ought to be 
punished, or what degree of atonement was necessary to 
appease the anger of a government for such an outrageous 
attack upon one of its subjects. 

Edward having recovered, though still weak from 
his wound, determined to proceed to Rio del Monte$ 
but not taking proper precautions against the intense 
heat, he received a coup de soleil , as it is called, on his 
journey thither. This brought on more bleeding and 
more violent discipline, which, added to his first disas- 
ter, nearly brought him to death’s door, and unfitted 
him for the duties he had to perform. Moreover, when 
at his post, an insurrection took place among the miners, 
fomented by evil-intentioned priests, and soon a report 
was rife that all heretics had tails. To this fable Ed- 
ward had nearly fallen a sacrifice; for, taking a ride 
one day for his health, and rising in his stirrups, as 
Englishmen are wont to do on a trot, he was nearlv 
stoned to death by a mob of miners, who swore he was 
giving himself this trouble in order to favour the tail 
which he wore secreted behind his coat. He was sa 
entirely disgusted by such treatment, that to remain 
longer among so worthless a people he felt was time 
thrown away, particularly as nothing seemed to prosper 
with him, and therefore he resolved upon returning to 
England. 

Being kindly furnished with money by the preserver 
of his life, who did not cease taking interest in his fate, 
he associated himself with a party of six proceeding to 
Vera Cruz, and with them hired one of those large, 
ancient- looking coaches, hung upon leathern upholders. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


165 

and drawn bj a whole regiment of mules, — convey- 
ances so well known to every Mexican traveller, — and 
soon after bade adieu to the capital of New Spain. 

Much apprehension was excited at the time as to the 
safety of the roads. Bands of robbers infested the 
whole country, and particularly in the direction of 
Puebla; and every thing was said to dissuade the party 
from attempting the journey, but in vain. On an ap- 
pointed day, they departed, well armed, and full of 
hope that no disaster would occur. Passing one of the 
pine-wood forests, so frequent on the road, suddenly 
they heard several shots fired, and then cries ordering 
the postillions to stop and dismount. The most active 
within the coach seized their arms and jumped out. Ed- 
ward, still very weak, was fumbling for his pistols, 
when a discharge of small-arms, as if from a battalion 
of infantry, was directed against the body of the car- 
riage, and he found himself beset by shot-holes, one 
ball having passed through his hat. Two of those who 
left the carriage were severely wounded, and two killed 
outright. All resistance was vain, and those left alive 
were too happy to submit to their fate and be robbed 
of all they possessed. This done, the gang withdrew 
from the field under the orders of their chief, the Cap- 
tain Rolando of the day, and then left the unfortunate 
sufferers to make the best of their way. 

At length they managed to reach Vera Cruz; and 
Edward, with joy and thankfulness, once more found 
himself treading the deck of an English ship. Much 
as he was persecuted by ill-luck on shore, so equally 
was be the favourite of Fortune at sea; for, escaping 
the dangers of yellow fever both at Vera Cruz and the 
Havannah, and being favoured in his passage through 
the Florida stream, he made one of the most rapid 
voyages across the Atlantic almost ever known; landing 
at Liverpool, safe and sound, quite restored to health, 
though with scarcely a shirt to his back, or a sixpence 
in his pocket. 

Edward had lived with the image of Mary constantly 
before him — all his schemes were planned with her hap- 
piness in view, and there was nothing he undertook 
which was not directly or indirectly connected with the 
hope of one day possessing her as a wife. When he 
reached Liverpool his heart was full of apprehension, 


166 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


and he dreaded to think what changes might have taken 
place during his absence. On landing, his first inqui- 
ries were concerning his uncle: he found that he had 
left the place, ruined and a bankrupt, and that his 
family was dispersed. His next care was to seek some 
friend who would furnish him with sufficient money to 
take him to London; and having secured a supply, he 
hastened to seek the object of all his thoughts. Upon 
his arrival, he straightway bent his steps to Golden- 
square, hoping to find Mary and her relations in the 
same place where he had lhft them. His heart beat 
audibly as he rapped at the door. It was opened by a 
strange face; and in answer to his inquiries he was in- 
formed that no . Allnut lived there, and that the name 
was not even known. With disappointment in his 
heart, he next directed his steps to the banker’s, where 
he felt certain of learning their address; but there too 
he was disappointed,-— he was informed that their ac- 
count had been closed for some time past; and Edward 
himself knew enough of Mexican affairs to be certain 
that their expectations concerning the dividends of the 
loan were still unaccomplished. He appplied at the 
Post-office in vain — they were not house-holders, their 
name did not appear in any of the directories; and from 
Abel’s habits he was quite sure that he could not be 
the member of a club. A thought struck him: he 
remembered that they were acquainted with Mark 
Woodcock; but where was M ark Woodcock to be 
found? He ^entered a coffee-house, hoping that in 
looking over a newspaper, with its numerous advertise- 
ments, to alight upon some article which might enlighten 
his mind. He seized upon a large sheet as broad and as 
long as a table-cloth; and after much tossing and tum- 
bling, to his great surprise, nearly the first thing which 
caught his eye was his own name, in large characters: 
it headed an advertisement thus expressed: — 

u Edward Manbv. — If a person of that name , son of 
the late Captain Manby of Jamaica ± will call at the office 
of Mr. Fairfax , solicitor, Lincolris-inn, he will hear of 
something to his advantage 
“ Can that possibly mean me?” said Edward. “ It 
must be; and still, who can have anything to say to my 
advantage, wretched outcast that I am?” He read the 
advertisement over and over again with feelings we will 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


167 

not attempt to describe, until he felt persuaded that he 
was the person designated; and although tired and 
jaded with his previous walk, he set oft* again joyfully 
and full of buoyant hope that Fortune had at length 
determined to turn over a new leaf in his favour. 

When he reached Mr. Fairfax’s office, he was fairly 
out ot breath with haste: but collecting all his thoughts 
ere he ventured to announce himself, he entered the 
office. The first person he saw was Mark Woodcock; 
and again his heart was cheered by the sight'of an ac- 
quaintance, who he felt could inform him of the only 
one thing he really wished to know. 

Mark, seeing one of no very prepossessing appear- 
ance, — for Edward wore the same dress in which he 
had left Mexico, — looked at him as one with whom he 
might have associated in his own journey, and began to 
consider in what outlandish tongue he ought to address 
him, when the other stepping up to him said, “Sir, my 
name is Edward Manby.” 

“Is it indeed !” said Mark, heartily glad to hear the 
confession, and, without another word, dragged him be- 
fore Mr. Fairfax, announcing his visiter with great em- 
phasis. Mr. Fairfax, eyeing him well from head to foot, 
and making a succession of questions to ascertain his 
identity, to all of which he gave satisfactory answers, at 
length said, “I am very happy, Mr. Manby, to take 
you by the hand. I have repeatedly inserted advertise- 
ments in the newspapers similar to the one which you 
have read, but to no purpose. They were put in, in con- 
sequence of a clause in the will of your late uncle, Sir 
Roger Oldbourn, who was very anxious to have seen 
you before he died, by which act he has bequeathed you 
the sum of five hundred pounds free of all duty. That 
sum, as his executor, I shall now have the pleasure of 
paying into your hands; and I wish it were double the 
amount. Here is a copy of the will, which you will 
have the goodness to look over, and here is the money 
in a cheque on my banker.” Upon which the solicitor 
put the document before him, and the draft for the 
money into his hands. 

Edward stood like one entranced. He had heard, in 
early life, that he was a nephew to a baronet of the name 
of Oldbourn; but so little was he impressed with the 
importance of such a relationship, that it never occurred 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


168 

to him it could be available as a matter of interest. This 
uncle had always been described to him as so entirely his 
enemy, that he scarcely could believe in his good for- 
tune. He did not give himself the trouble to look at 
the will, but taking Mr. Fairfax’s word, pocketed the 
money with as many expressions of gratitude as if the 
solicitor had given it to him from his own purse. He 
was bursting with impatience all this while to make in- 
quiries concerning the Allnuts, and as soon as he had 
an opportunity, eagerly asked Mark whether he could 
give him any information concerning them, and what 
was their address? 

To this, Mark, and Mr. Fairfax both, answered in 
general terms that they were well, and would no doubt 
be happy to see him; but being now entirely engrossed 
in the affair of the marriage, and daily expecting the 
arrival of Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, they inquired of 
Edward whether perchance he could give any account 
of his uncle, who was hourly expected to arrive from 
his eastern travels. Again Edward was surprised, for 
he avowed that he was not aware of possessing such an 
uncle, and made eager inquiries how he might become 
acquainted with him. 

This gave Mark an opportunity for making a display 
of his knowledge of foreign countries. “Sir,” said 
Mark, “you will become acquainted with a most learn- 
ed gentleman: I know him well, — I knew him in that 
part of Greece called Asia Minor, where he had just 
arrived after making that famous discovery of Solo- 
mon’s Temple at a place called Persepolis in Persia.” 

“At Persepolis?” said Edward; “I always thought 
Solomon’s Temple had been built at Jerusalem.” 

“So every one thought until now,” said Mark, “and 
you are right in thinking so; but since you left Eng- 
land all that sort of thing has been changed — Sir Pere- 
grine has settled it beyond a doubt that it was built at 
Persepolis, and he’ll tell you so when you see him.” 

“I hope soon to see him. But pray,” said Edward, 
more anxious to know where the Allnutts lived than 
where Solomon’s Temple was built, — “pray, where 
can I call upon the Allnutts?” 

“Oh,” said Mark, “I forgot — here is Mr. Abel’s 
card.” He would have said more, and proceeded to 
give an account of the present state of the family, but 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


169 

that he could not take that liberty under the immediate 
eye of his chief; he therefore restricted himself to say- 
ing, that he hoped to see him often, as Mr. Fairfax 
would have much business to transact with his uncle; 
and having received an invitation to dine with Mr. 
Fairfax on the following day, he left that good man’s 
house elated with joy, burning to throw himself at the 
feet of his beloved Mary, and anxious once more to 
identify himself and his fortune with the only persons 
that he really loved in the world. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Illustration of the saying , (i Les absens ont toujours 
tort.” 

Abel and his sisters had persevered in not allowing 
the least agitation to impede Mary’s progress towards 
recovery; and they were well repaid for their care by 
the pleasure of seeing her restored to them, still 
very weak, but pronounced by the doctor quite con- 
valescent. They made the day when she was to 
leave her bed -room an event of great rejoicing. An 
arm-chair was placed for her at the corner of the fire- 
place in the drawing-room, a curtain was drawn to 
screen her from draughts, and her aunts were all bustle 
and preparation. When she appeared, languid and 
pale, though beaming with a beauty almost transparent 
with delicacy, her uncle conducted her to her seat, his 
eyes swimming with tears, and his heart full of grati- 
tude for the enjoyment of a blessing which he at one 
time thought had been lost to them for ever. They 
hung over her with the tenderest attention, and seating 
themselves around, gazed at her with rapture, scarcely 
daring to draw breath, lest by so doing they might dis- 
compose her nerves. Mary felt an inward satisfaction 
which she could only express by affectionate smiles, 
which seemed to say, that could she remain thus tran- 
quil and thus surrounded for the rest of her days, she 

vol. ii. — 15 


170 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


would ask no other boon from Heaven. But, alas! 
how short-lived are our pleasures! Scarcely were 
they seated, when a hurried knock was heard at the 
street-door. 

“ Who can that be?” said Fanny. 

‘‘We must let nobody in,” said Bab. 

“ Not even Mark,” said Abel. 

“ Oh yes!” said Mary, 4 ‘ let poor Markin; I am sure 
l am strong enough to see him. He is such a good- 
hearted creature — pray let us have him in!” 

Abel was just turning towards the door to give his 
orders, when two or three rapid bounds were heard on 
the staircase, the door was violently thrown open, and 
to their surprise and dismay Edward Manby stood be- 
fore them. Such a sight at so unprepared a moment 
may be better imagined than described, and indeed its 
effects were most disastrous. Poor Mary entirely lost 
all sensation, whilst her aunts, in utter dismay, their 
arms extended against Edward, rushed to receive her 
drooping head. Abel, with quick apprehension of the 
mischief about to happen, immediately took Edward by 
the arm and led him out of the room. Edward opposed 
with violence the urgent action of Abel, seeing the 
object of his dearest affections so overcome; but the 
words of Abel, who said, “ Edward, you will kill her 
if you persist,” produced so instantaneous an effect, 
that he followed his conductor into the dining-room 
more dead than alive. 

44 What has happened?” said Edward; “in the name 
of Heaven, what can all this mean?” 

“My dear friend,” said Abel, taking his hand with 
the warmest affections, whilst tears filled his eyes — 
“My dear Edward, excuse the reception you have met 
with; but you will forgive us when you know all. We 
are much to be pitied — that poor girl in particular; she 
has been dangerously ill, and the sudden sight of you 
has been too much for her. Excuse my anxiety; I must 
return to her for a moment; perhaps her seizure is only 
momentary; wait here till I come again, and then I will 
tell you all.” Upon which he hastened back to the 
drawing-room, whilst Edward remained below in all the 
agony of suspense, cursing his own imprudence for hav- 
ing- ventured so thoughtlessly and so abruptly to in- 
trude himself without due notice. He stood with ears 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


171 


erect, awake to the least sound, and we need not de- 
scribe his feelings, when he heard an order given to the 
servant to run for the doctor instantly. He would have 
flown himself — he would have run half the world over 
could he have done any good; but fearing by some se- 
cond act of imprudence to produce more mischief, he 
condemned himself to pace the floor of the dining-room 
until Abel should return. 

In the mean while, the endeavours of the aunts to 
restore their niece succeeded, and they were overjoyed 
to see her open her eyes and hear her speak, although 
they found it necessary to take her to bed again. She 
had fainted from quick revulsion, produced by sudden 
emotion; but as her mind was turned to coming events 
by constant reflection and daily preparation, and as she 
was not borne down by fever, the attack was merely 
one produced by weakness. As soon as she came to 
herself, they did not permit her to speak, although she 
was eager to ask all sorts of questions; and she allowed 
herself to be quieted when informed by Abel that he 
would undertake to explain to the unfortunate Edward 
the real state of the whole case. 

When Abel returned into the dining-room, Edwartl 
flew towards him, accusing himself of every sort of im- 
prudence for so thoughtlessly venturing to enter the 
house without being announced; but when he was as- 
sured by Abel that Mary was better, he allowed himself 
to be pacified. Then Abel, taking him affectionately by 
the hand, said, “Now sit down. I have much to say — 
much that will afflict you, for I am acquainted with 
your love for Mary; and it grieves me to be obliged to 
tell you, that you must prepare yourself for the bitterest 
of disappointments.’* 

“O Heaven!” exclaimed Edward, scarcely able to 
utter from emotion, “what is it? — tell me quickly. Is 
she married?” 

“Have patience, my dear friend,” said Abel, — “you 
must know all from the beginning, or otherwise you 
will not be sufficiently able to pity and forgive her and 
us. In the first place then, to answer your question, 
she is not married, but I will not answer for what is 
likely to take place — she is engaged to another.” 

“It can’t be,” said Edward, starting with violent 
emotion, — ‘fit must not be; she has engaged herself to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


172 

me — s he never can have changed ! I am come to claim 
her as my own!” 

“You must listen with patience,” said Abel. “When 
you have heard our pitiful tale, to what necessities we 
have been reduced, and what sacrifices this noble girl 
has made, it will then be time to draw your conclu- 
sions; and, if I have not mistaken your character, I am 
sure you will be the first to applaud the magnanimity 
of her conduct, although it may be at the expense of 
your own happiness.” 

Edward sat himself down in a dogged attitude, as if 
prepared to undergo some act of torture; when Abel 
proceeded with his narrative. Beginning from the time 
of Edward’s departure, he laid great stress upon the mi- 
series they endured in consequence of not hearing from 
him, and avowed that they allowed suspicions of his 
neglect to creep into their minds, until they received 
his letter, and all became fatally clear. When he de- 
scribed Tom Woodby’s conduct, Edward muttered be- 
tween his teeth “The villain!” and when from that, 
having glanced at the dreadful state of want to which 
they were reduced, which had first turned Mary’s 
thoughts to the advertisement, Abel seized hold of Ed- 
ward’s hand, and said, “Such, my friend, was our po- 
sition, and such the motives which urged the conduct 
of Mary.” 

Edward did not require more explanation, for his 
heart was already excited into the highest glow of ad- 
miration of her conduct, — he abhorred the pitiful self- 
ishness, that could have angered him at the determina- 
tion she had taken, and he loudly asserted that it would 
have been contrary to the noble disinterestedness of her 
nature had she acted otherwise. “But who is the man, 
after all,” said Edward, “that is to possess her? Is he 
known? — will he be kind to her — has she any chance 
of happiness with him?” 

“Who?” said Abel. “What! have you not been told? 
Why, it is no less a person than your own uncle Sir 
Peregrine Oldbourn!” 

Edward’s astonishment at this strange coincidence 
could only be expressed by exclamations of surprise; 
and however great might be his own disappointment — 
however bitter his anguish at this destruction of all his 
hopes, still there was some consolation for him to find 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


173 

that she was to be married to a gentleman, and so likely 
to treat his wife with kindness. 

Having heard Abel’s statement, he abruptly departed, 
so anxious was he to be alone, in order, if possible, to 
regain possession of his equanimity. It was no easy 
matter to break down in an instant that structure of 
hope, and anticipated delight, which had so long existed 
in his heart, upon foundations so deep, that he con- 
ceived nothing could ever demolish them. He walked 
away sorrowful and almost broken-hearted. He longed 
once more to see Mary, were it only to assure her, that 
although it had been ordained she was not to be hi& 
wife, yet he would live in the hope of seeing her happy, 
and as a first step to secure that result he would leave 
England for ever, for he had not strength of mind suffi- 
cient to behold her with indifference in the possession 
of another. After such cogitations, he determined to 
return once again to Abel, to make him the confidant 
of his feelings, and with him to concert to what mode 
of life, as an alien from England, he could best turn his 
views. 

When, after Edward’s sudden apparition, Mary had 
come to herself, she soon regained possession of her 
mind, although her body was too weak to sustain vio- 
lent emotions. Having anticipated this event, she had 
schooled herself to meet it; and would have done so 
with success, had Edward behaved with common pru- 
dence in announcing his arrival. Trusting to the ex- 
cellence and nobleness of his nature,, she subsequently 
determined to see him, to confide in him, to speak to 
him the language of friendship, — to explain to him that 
she had built her whole conduct upon the certainty of 
finding in him that same abnegation of self which she 
had endeavoured to acquire. Feeling strong enough 
to execute this resolution, she informed her aunts and 
uncle that she was determined to see Edward, for she 
was certain that was the only mode of accelerating her 
total recovery. They became alarmed, and said that 
they must refer to the doctor, who alone could judge 
whether she ought to be allowed such a licence. The 
doctor, who happened to be a philosopher as well as one 
skilled in bodily infirmities, immediately assented to 
her wish; for he knew that the only way to produce 
health of body is by first securing ease of mind. 

15 * 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


1T4 

When Edward called again, Abel informed him that 
Mary wished to see him ; warning him of her feeble 
state, and hinting how necessary it was to arm himself 
with resolution to suppress emotions which would natu- 
rally arise upon seeing her again face to face. Although 
Edward was not quite prepared for this, still joy sprang 
into his heart at the very idea, and he assured Abel 
that he would master his feelings to the utmost of his 
power. 

Mary lay extended on a sofa, pale, languid, and weak, 
though armed in her inmost mind with the resolution 
of a martyr. It was indeed a trial almost superhuman 
for a man in love to approach the idol of his heart in 
the manner that Edward was about to do, and, at the 
same time, to be precluded from the power of giving 
full vent to his feelings. When he entered the room, a 
clammy moisture broke out upon his forehead, and he 
would have clutched his own heart, could he have got 
at it, in order to enclose its emotions within his grasp. 
He approached her with a faltering step, and seized 
her hand, which she held out to him, whilst a smile 
broke upon her features which would have spoken 
volumes had she ventured to give utterance to the real 
sentiments of her breast. Nothing was said between 
them until Mary broke the silence, and said, “Edward, 
we are still friends, although our lot has not been cast 
as we had once intended. We are both blessed with a 
sense of religion, which, with the help of God, will 
make us fulfil the duties assigned to us in our different 
paths through life.” 

“You must support me, Mary,” said Edward; “for 
in truth I have not yet had time enough to wean myself 
from — ” he would have said his love; but he stopped 
short, and turning his head away allowed his tears to 
flow. 

“The trial is a great one,” said Mary, “believe me; 
I have gone through its various agonies. My wretched- 
ness has brought me to the brink of the grave; and 
were it not for those dear relations so precious to us 
both, I would have wished that it might have been 
allowed to receive me. But why are we here but 
to be tried? I have been restored to life, but I 
have been taught that it is not given to us mortals to 
make up our own scheme of happiness according to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


175 

our own views — but our destinies are in other and 
better hands! Edward, I have been taught that those 
delightful visions of happiness which I had once 
formed of living in your company for the rest of 
my life must be driven from my mind, and that I am 
to belong to another — to one whom I have never yet 
seen, — to one who will probably be the one great trial 
of my existence — whose tastes, perhaps, are totally 
different from mine — who may treat me with indiffer- 
ence — who marries me only to fulfil a clause in a will — 
and one, in short, who will make me daily feel the ne- 
cessity of fleeing to God as my refuge, as my only re- 
source against despair. Edward, the decrees of Provi- 
dence must be obeyed — I have in all humility bowed 
down my head to them; and I have said to myself, 
‘Happen what may, I will strive to be contented with 
my lot!’ I am to promise to love, honour, and obey 
my husband that is to be; and as I hope for salvation,” 
said the animated maid, “I will exert all the powers of 
my existence to love, honour, and obey him. I will 
pray day and night for support: I will go straight for- 
ward to my duties, and will with God’s help exert my 
best energies to pursue with credit and honour the path 
that is spread before me.” 

Animated with what she said, she rose from her seat, 
and in an attitude of supplication she said, “And thus, 
dear Edw r ard, do I pray you to take the same resolu- 
tions. Look upon your present situation as one of trial; 
pray for support; whatever may be your position in life, 
resolve to perform its duties with unwearied persever- 
ance, and the same result which has crowned my en- 
deavours will crown yours, and we shall mutually enjoy 
that peace which the world cannot give, and which pass- 
eth all understanding.” 

During this effort which Mary made over her weak- 
ness, Edward gazed upon her with a feeling composed 
of love, respect, and admiration, for she appeared to 
him as something more than human. His heart bent 
with entire submission to her wishes, and with the de- 
termination to imitate her example, he said with enthu- 
siasm, “I will endeavour to render myself worthy of 
you, Mary. The same strength which has been given 
to you will doubtless be my portion also if I earnestly 
strive to attain it.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


176 

He did not allow himself to remain with her after 
this declaration, but almost fled from the fascinating in- 
fluence of her presence, fearful that his weakness might 
get the better of his nobler resolves. She hid her face 
with her hands lest a look from him might have over- 
powered her resolution^ but when she saw him leave 
the room, the oppression of her heart found relief in a 
copious flood of tears, until they were checked by that 
appeal to Heaven in prayer, which always produced the 
effect of bringing peace to her mind, and restoring her 
to the conviction that all is for the best. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Delusion, infatuation, and hobby-horse riding are near- 
ly synonymous. 

We return to Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, who, shortly 
after Mark Woodcock’s departure from Smyrna, hav- 
ing hired a vessel and embarked his collection of anti- 
quities, sailed away from that magnificent gulf, infinite- 
ly more intent upon his antiquarian pursuits than upon 
acquiring possession of the fortune that was awaiting 
him in England. The episode of Mark’s visit had made 
but a transient impression, and surrounded as he was 
by objects and places, which constantly revived his 
classic recollections, he allowed them to engross his 
thoughts more than the common -place business of every- 
day life. One of his earliest wishes had been to obtain 
possession of a certain altar in the Island of Delos, 
which he had seen portrayed in Tournefort’s Travels, 
and to that spot he first bent his course. He reached 
it in due time; although during the passage he could 
not refrain from touching at Chios, to see the place 
where Homer formerly held his school — for the inha- 
bitants still pretend to show the very spot on which he 
sat, — and could scarcely be restrained, in spite of wind 
and weather, from landing on every island to inspect 
every stone sacred to an antiquary’s eye. 

Before his bark cast anchor at Delos, he perceived an 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


1 77 

English frigate in the offing, and without waiting to dis- 
cover what she might be, he instantly went on shore, 
so anxious was he to see the object which had so long- 
engaged his attention. At a small distance from the 
landing-place he perceived a party of English sailors 
hooting and making merry at some object at which they 
were casting stones. 

“Go it, Ned!” said one voice. 

“Now for a broadside!” said another. 

“There goes her fin!” said a third. 

“Here’s for her stern!” roared a fourth. 

Sir Peregrine hastened to the scene of action; and 
there, to his surprise, his joy, and dismay, he discover- 
ed a most beautiful female statue of white marble, at 
which the idle sons of Neptune were directing the whole 
of their energies. 

“For Heaven’s sake, stop!” roared the anxious anti- 
quary, running towards the statue and screening it with 
his body. “I’ll give you any thing you like, but throw 
no more stones.” 

The sailors, seeing so strange a figure before them, 
and hearing him speak their language, at once desisted; 
although they very probably would not have given up 
their sport, had not the midshipman in charge of the 
boat stepped up and rescued the beautiful statue from 
further demolition. 

“They have broken off its hand,” said Sir Peregrine, 
almost crying with sorrow; and then he fell to making 
such extraordinary contortions, indicating delight of the 
highest order, that all the worthies present concluded 
they had fallen in with one of insane mind. “A first- 
rate Venus, by all that’s sacred!” he cried out in rap- 
ture as he stood gazing at the prize. 

“Please your honour,” said a rough fellow, stepping 
up and touching his hat, “the Venus is only a sloop of 
war.” 

“Stand back, sir,” said the midshipman, making way 
for the captain of the frigate, who had just returned 
from taking a walk through the island, and who having- 
taken a long look at Sir Peregrine, still too much en- 
grossed to observe what was going on around him, 
rushed up to him with extended hands, and at once an- 
nounced himself as an old schoolfellow. The excited 
baronet could scarcely refrain from throwing himself 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


178 

into his arms with joy, although perhaps this ebullition 
proceeded more from the delight of having found an 
old statue than an old friend, and the result of this 
meeting proved highly satisfactory, inasmuch as it was 
the means of putting Sir Peregrine in possession of the 
statue, for which he was too happy to remunerate all 
the parties concerned with more than liberality of ardent 
passion. 

The precious object was conveyed on board his own 
vessel, and was placed in a spot open to his contempla- 
tion at all hours of the day. He entirely forgot his 
brother’s will, his future wife, time elapsed or time to 
come, and everything that related to his obligations and 
engagements, in the ecstasies of antiquarian enjoyment; 
his Venus was all in all to him. He immediately begati 
writing a dissertation, upholding her as something infi- 
nitely superior to the Medici Venus, or, indeed, to any 
piece of sculpture in the known world. He even for- 
got his dearly-beloved altar, which in lact had been 
carried away by a previous amateur: his mind seemed 
to have been swept of every other sensation or recollec- 
tion, Persepolis not excepted, and he only lived in the 
joy and happiness of being the possessor of that which 
was to give him fame and pleasure for the rest of his 
days. 

He proceeded onwards to Athens and cast anchor in 
the harbour of the Piraeus. No antiquary could ever 
have been more blest with success and advantages of 
every kind, were he not oppressed by the weight of his 
overhanging engagement. When he saw the wonders 
of ancient art spread before him, he was lost in delight 
and astonishment, and he would willingly have passed 
the remainder of his days in worshipping at the shrine 
of Minerva; but as he dozed away his life day after day, 
lost in admiration, and living more among the ancient 
dead than among the things of the present time, every 
now and then a vision of Mark Woodcock would arise 
before him with a parchment in one hand and a wife in 
the other, and awaken him from his antiquarian trance. 

He increased his collections all in his power, by pur- 
chasing fragments of every description. Doric capitals, 
shafts of columns, huge specimens from Pentelicus, 
friezes, metopes, and architectural remains, were load- 
ed upon his bark, until she began to swim deep in the 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 179 

water, when the master informed him that she could 
bear no more with safety. His time for departure now 
drew near, and he was about paying his last visit to the 
great fane, when stepping on board, he was informed 
that his ship had sprung aleak, owing, it was said, to 
the awkward loading of certain heavy blocks. He re- 
turned ashore; and as he stood on the margin of the Pi- 
raeus, to his great dismay, he gradually perceived his 
floating treasures sinking inch by inch into the sea, 
until the hull of the vessel entirely disappeared from 
above the surface. The leak had become uncontrolla- 
ble, and the vessel sunk in spite of every effort. He 
rubbed his eyes at the phenomenon, and danced about 
with unavailing supplications for help. His philosophy 
was not proof against such an event, and he cursed him- 
self as the unluckiest of mortals, and his ship as the 
worst of ships. What could he do but rave? — At length, 
when the captain of his bark could with safety approach 
him, he informed that, having sunk in shallow water, it 
would not be difficult with proper help to raise, repair, 
and make her sea-worthy, but that such an operation 
could not be done in a day. 

Sir Peregrine exclaimed, “I will stay here for ever 
rather than lose my Venus;” and so saying, he ordered 
every exertion to be made in furtherance of the captain’s 
suggestions. Long indeed was the labour, and deeply 
did the time which it occupied trench upon the prescrib- 
ed limits of his absence from England: he thought little 
of his wife and fortune, but gave himself up entirely to 
the hope of regaining possession of his treasures. To 
his delight, his extravagant joy, he had the satisfaction 
one morning, after immense exertions, to see his beloved 
Venus raised from the deep, uninjured, intact, lovely 
and attractive as ever: his transports knew no bounds, 
and he gave an entertainment to celebrate her reappear- 
ance. Little by little his whole collection was again 
restored, his ship repaired and fitted for sea; but so 
much time had now elapsed, that it was evident, unless 
favoured by the winds, it would be difficult to reach 
England within the six months. 

He anchored at Malta after a short and prosperous 
voyage, and would have proceeded immediately to Eng- 
land, had he not, by great ill-luck, met with a party of 
French travellers, bound on a tour of science and an- 


180 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


tiquity to Greece and the islands, to whom he could not 
refrain from exhibiting with pride and exultation the 
beautiful statue of which he had become the possessor. 
The principal person among the Frenchmen was an an- 
tiquary, learned in Greek, and one who had written 
many dissertations. Sir Peregrine had announced his 
statue as an undoubted Venus; but when it came before 
the eye of the Frenchman, he looked at it with the 
doubting aspect of a connoisseur, and after a short in- 
terval exclaimed, “Ah, bah! this is no Venus — this is 
Latona.” Upon which issue was joined between the 
parties: Sir Peregrine felt himself bound to defend the 
position he had taken up, the Frenchman would allow 
of no appeal from his decision. The enthusiastic baro- 
net, in the ecstasy of his admiration, determined to 
prove that his statue could only be the very identical 
chef -d’oeuvre of Praxiteles, the famous Venus of Cnidus, 
which, with a body of stone, had melted a heart of flesh 
and blood, and quoted every author from Hesiod to 
Payne Knight to prove his assertion. 

The Frenchman begged leave to inquire what busi- 
ness could Venus have at Delos? “Send her to Cyprus, 
to Cythera, to Cnidus, to Sicyon, and a hundred other 
places, and welcome,” said he, “but do not let her 
come to Delos — that island sacred only to Apollo 
and Diana, and to their mother Latona, whose beauty 
and agony this statue represents.” 

“Agony!” exclaimed Sir Peregrine; “on the contra- 
ry, I submit it to every one who knows anything of a 
face, whether the expression of her countenance does 
not denote pleasure and joy.” 

Thence ensued a long argument upon the expressions 
of the human countenance. “But see,” said the French- 
man, “here is a proof that it is Latona! — here on the 
pedestal is something like the wing of a bird. Now 
Latona was changed into a quail; therefore this must be 
that goddess.” 

“I do not admit that as any proof,” said Sir Pere- 
grine, “for Venus was the protectress of doves, swans, 
and sparrows.” 

Arguments were thus arrayed on either side, until 
the whole island became divided into two parties. Sir 
Peregrine wjent about canvassing with as much zeal for 
Venus as any candidate would for a metropolitan bo- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


181 


rough; whilst the Frenchman thought the honour and 
glory of his country were concerned that he should 
make good his claims in favour of Latona. 

Sir Peregrine was sitting down seriously to publish 
his views upon the subject in a pamphlet, when the ar- 
rival of a packet with newspapers put him in mind that 
there was such a place in the world as England, and 
that he had a great deal to do in it: so, without further 
delay, he packed up his Venus and his dissertations, 
and without saying a word, or taking farewell of any 
one, he embarked and sailed away, leaving the field in 
full possession of the enemy, who took care to have it 
well understood, that with whatever weapons, the pen 
or the sword, France was sure to cover herself with 
glory. 

The baronet, full of the subject which had occupied 
his mind at Malta, had leisure when on his passage to 
Gibraltar to arrange his thoughts into the shape of a 
learned essay, which he intended to publish the moment 
he should reach England; and thus did he lose sight of 
that fortune and all its alluring concomitants, which to 
every other person but himself would probably have 
kept his mind in a ferment of impatience and anxiety. 

The time was drawing nigh when the term fixed in 
his brother’s will would elapse, and still he was in the 
middle of the ocean thinking upon Venus. Having 
passed Gibraltar, he got into the Bay of Biscay, where, 
as usual, he encountered a gale of wind, which came 
on with a violence that put all his speculations for the 
present out of his head and made him think seriously 
upon the safety of his treasures. His vessel was deeply 
laden, and she laboured much, to the great dismay of 
all on board, who were aware that the only method of 
lightening her was to throw overboard a great part of 
her heavy cargo; but who was there bold enough to sug- 
gest this expedient to the doting and enthusiastic anti- 
quary! 

At length the storm increased so much, and the ves- 
sel was so constantly overwhelmed with waves, that the 
master took courage and ventured to speak to Sir Peri- 
grine. He sidled up towards him as he stood on the 
deck gazing at the storm, and prefaced what he had to 
say with the preliminary observation, that it was dirty 
weather, and that it was likely to come on to blow. He 

vol. ii. — 16 


182 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


stood by for a while to observe what effect such obser- 
vations would have, when Sir Peregrine remarked, 
“Why, sir, how much more would you have it blow!” 

“We can’t go on much longer,” said the master, 
“without lightening the vessel. She won’t rise to it at 
all: something must go overboard, or we shall go 
down.” 

“Sir,” said the baronet, “I don’t understand you. 
What is to go overboard?” 

“Some of the cargo, if you please, sir,” answered the 
master. 

“What!” exclaimed Sir Peregrine, “would you 
throw the works of Phidias into the deep? — would you 
throw part of the Temple of Minerva into the Bay of 
Biscay? There is sacrilege in the very thought! Are 
you aware, sir, that you are the carrier of treasures — 
of part of the works of the most celebrated people of 
antiquity, whose skill, taste, and knowledge in the arts 
have never been rivalled, and who exercise influence 
over all the nations of the present day? If you were 
to throw any of my blocks of marble overboard, they 
are lost to the world forever, and I should like to know 
how you could ever replace them?” 

“As for that,” said the master, “I would get you as 
much stone as you like from Portland, a great deal 
better than what we have got on board; and there is no 
end to the granite one can get from Aberdeen.” 

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the indignant antiquary, “did 
you ever hear of Phidias working with Aberdeen gra- 
nite? I tell you again, if you throw any of my marbles 
overboard, you may as well throw me after them.” 

The master walked away grumbling, muttering be- 
tween his teeth that he would not risk his life and that 
of his crew for a parcel of old rubbish, and actually 
was beginning to get the gear up for hoisting some of 
the bulkier fragments from the hold, when, to his joy, 
he beheld a break in the sky to windward which por- 
tended line weather, and he straightway returned to 
Sir Peregrine to inform him of his hopes. The event 
proved as he anticipated — the storm subsided, and ere 
a few days had elapsed, the cheering cry was heard 
from the mast-head of “Land on the starboard bow!” 
On the following morning, the vessel was abreast of 
Scilly, running up Channel with a fair wind; and hav- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


183 

ing made her passage good as far as Dover, she hove to 
off that port for a pilot. 

Here the reader might suppose that Sir Peregrine, 
considering how much he had at stake, would straight- 
way have landed, ordered a post-chaise and galloped 
off to London; but no, — nothing could separate him 
from his statue; but a very short time was left ere the 
prescribed six months would elapse, and still he con- 
tinued on ship-board, subject to the uncertainty attend- 
ing winds and tides, determined never to abandon that 
which he cherished more than life until he had deposit- 
ed it in a place of safety. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

One of the three great miseries of life according to the 
Italian proverb , is, “ S.spettarre e non venire .” 

The time was now so nearly accomplished when 
Sir Peregrine should have arrived, that all the parties 
interested in that event began to be seriously apprehen- 
sive that some accident had befallen him. 

Mary, ever since her interview with Edward, had 
not intermitted strengthening her mind by religion and 
reflection, in readiness to meet her future partner in 
life. Her aunts lived in a constant state of fidget, vi- 
brating betwixt expectation and apprehension; and 
Uncle Abel’s philosophy was not proof against the fear 
and uncertainty attendant upon an event in which the 
happiness of his precious niece was so much compro- 
mised. Mr. Fairfax was considering what steps he 
could take to secure the arrival of his client, for he be- 
gan to be seriously apprehensive that his eccentricities 
might defeat his late brother’s schemes in his favour; 
and Edward was kept in suspense as to the line of life 
he should adopt, having determined to see his uncle 
before he took a final resolution. Mark Woodcock 
alone, from his knowledge of the man, had made up his 
mind that he would not arrive in time to fulfil his en- 
gagements. 


184 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Reports had reached England of the disaster which 
had befallen Sir Peregrine’s vessel at Athens, although 
he himself had not written, and they added to the un- 
certainty and expectation into which every one of 
the parties concerned were thrown. Among others, 
the Goold Woodbys had been informed of what was 
passing, and, like all small folks who are happy to be 
concerned in the business of the great, they were con- 
stantly callinguponthe Allnutts and making themselves 
officiously active in what concerned them not. 

Mrs. Woodby, just returned from paying a visit to 
Aunt Bab, came rushing in to her friend Lady Thomson 
with a face beaming with importance, and exclaimed, 
“Do you know what has happened? Why, I declare if 
there isn’t Edward Manby, there! — you know who I 
mean? — that young man who was Tom’s friend, nephew 
to the brewer at Liverpool, and who went oft’ nobody 
knew where; well, he is likely to come in for at least 
ten thousand a year, and a great house and park.” 

“Is that really possible!” said Lady Thomson, 
equally astonished. 

“It is as true as you sit4here,” said Mrs. Woodby. 
“I have just heard it from Barbara Allnutt, who is in 
such a taking lest her niece, after all, should only get 
the old baronet without his fortune ! — which, you know, 
is the principal thing.” 

“Well, that will be extraordinary!” said Lady Thom- 
son: “but how can this happen?” 

“Why, it seems,” said Mrs. Woodby, “that accord- 
ing to old Sir Roger’s will, if his brother does not mar- 
ry within six months after his death, then the money and 
estates go to the nephew. Now, Edward, we knew 
before, was nephew to a baronet, and this is he; — isn’t 
it a strange incidence?” 

“Strange indeed!” — Coincidence, you mean, my 
dear.” 

“I mean what I mean,” said Mrs. Woodby. “Now, 
the present baronet. Sir Peregrine, is a very eccentric 
man, one they call a great absentee, and it is supposed 
he has forgot all about it; for instead of coming straight 
home to his business, he is gone to discover the Temple 
of Solomon in Persia, and he is no more likely to get 
home within his time than he is to flv.” 

“The man must be a fool,” said Lady Thomson: “the 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


185 

Temple of Solomon was built at Jerusalem — anyone 
can tell that. I make it a rule to set everybody right, 
and I’ll tell him so when I see him. If such is the case, 
I wish Miss Mary Allnutt joy upon her old baronet! 
Why, she may just whistle for it, and remain Mary 
Allnutt for the rest of her life.” 

“But what a piece of luck for our Ellen !” said Mrs. 
Woodby. “As soon as she hears this, the girl will be- 
come as much in love with Edward as ever she was; 
and as he can’t get Mary now, whom he used to be 
going after when they lived at Ivycote, why, it’s per- 
fectly certain that we may get him if we only look sharp, 
and if Mr. Woodby will only bestir himself, and not 
be thinking all day long about his patent steam-appa- 
ratus.” 

“But what if Mary was now to throw over her old 
baronet and marry Edward? — there is nothing to hinder 
her,” said Lady Thomson. 

“Why, you see,” said her friend, “that girl is one of 
your out-and-outers in doing what is right; and she 
wouldn’t go from her word, not to please the kina him- 
self; and it’s her being a saint, as she is called, that 
makes me think that our Ellen is secure of Edward. 
Why, she’s engaged to Sir Peregrine by a bond — she’s 
set her hand to it — she and her family were taken out 
of prison on account of this bond, and they have been 
living on it ever since. She can’t be oft* if she would.” 

“I owe it to myself to say,” said Lady Thomson, 
“that if I was Mary Allnutt, I would no more marry 
Sir Peregrine without his fortune than I would marry 
you. I think I know what is right and proper, and all 
that, as well as any Mary Allnutt in the kingdom; and 
if she is fool enough, only because she has signed a bit 
of parchment, to tack herself to a beggarly baronet all 
the rest of her days, why, joy go with her! However, she 
knows her business, anil I know mine; but if I was her, 
I would marry Manby, without the shadow of a doubt.” 

“That is what she shan’t!” cried out Mrs. Woodby, 
perfectly outrageous at the view her friend had taken 
of the case. “I do not see why we are to be done out 
of a good thing when it comes in our way. We have 
as much right to Edward Manby as the Allnuts. We 
were in love with him first; he was our Tom’s friend — 
he used to live at Belvedere when he had’nt a house to 
16 * 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


186 

go to; and now that he is to be well off in the world, it 
is only doing what he ought to do, and it will be a crying 
shame if he don’t, to marry our Ellen. We ’ll have 
him here to dinner as sure as fate, and you ’ll see how 
I’ll manage him! I know Ned pretty well I flatter 
myself; he will go through fire and water to please me, 
and he ’ll marry when I hold up my finger and tell him 
to do so.” Upon which Mrs. Woodby bustled away 
to seek her daughter Ellen, to inform her of the turn 
which affairs had taken, to order her to be in love again 
with Edward, and to write him a pressing note of invi- 
tation to dinner, and to stir up her husband to be kind 
and attentive to the youth. 

In the mean while, there was great commotion in 
Gower-street, produced by a hasty visit from Mark 
Woodcock, who came to announce that Sir Peregrine 
and his vessel had been seen off Dover, and that Mr. 
Fairfax requested that every thing might be in readiness 
at a moment’s notice for the wedding. 

“Do not be in such a hurry,” said Aunt Bab to Mark; 
“do explain yourself a little more. What preparations 
are we to make?- — how can we marry without a hus- 
band?” 

“Sir Peregrine will be here in another hour, perhaps,” 
said Mark: “he must either arrive to-morrow or not at 
all, for the six months, according to law. will be ex- 
pired to-morrow night at twelve o’clock — that is, as 
soon as the clock strikes one — and then, if he be not 
married, the fortune goes to Edward Manby, that’s all.” 

“But what are we to do? I only ask that,” said Bab. 

Do?” said Mark; “why, ar’n’t there clothes to be 
got, a ring to be purchased, and a veil to be thrown 
over the bride’s head? Why, if you had seen the veils 
that I have seen in Turkey, where the women’s eyes 
are peering out of a slit in the muslin, like bull’s-eyes 
out of a bulkhead, you’d be surprised, and know what 
a real veil was.” 

“But at what time will the ceremony take place? 
arn’t we to see Sir Peregrine first?” said Bab all be- 
wildered. 

“I know nothing of that,” said Mark: “all that’s 
kittsmet, as we say in Turkey; or fate. He may or 
may not come, and then you may cry Inshallah or Mas- 
hallah, as you please: Inshallah, please God — Mashal- 
lah , thanks be to God.” 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


187 


“Now do not tease us,” said Bab, ‘‘but speak plain 
sense. Who is to get the clergyman?” 

“Leave that to Mr. Fairfax,” said Mark: “he gets 
the licence and the mufti. Get you Miss Mary quite 
ready: don’t let her wince when she sees Sir Peregrine 
— for I promise you he is a rare one; only take care he 
don’t marry you instead of Miss Mary, which he is just 
as likely to do, for he is mad after antiques.” 

As soon, as he was gone. Aunt Bab immediately 
made a report to Mary of the message, as well as to her 
brother and sister. Mary received it as a martyr would 
receive the order of being brought to the stake: her 
feelings had long been prepared for this event; and al- 
though her cheek was pale and her heart beat with un- 
usual violence, still she demurred not, but did all that 
was necessary to be done. 

Fanny had never yet entirely subdued the surprise 
which she evinced at the first outbreak of the whole 
affair of the marriage; for she could never comprehend 
how a girl was to be married without courtship, and 
without any visible sign of a husband: she therefore 
contemplated the approaching hasty preparations as a 
mockery, and inquired if Mary was to be married to a 
name, and not to a substance. As for Uncle Abel, as 
long as the baronet did not appear, he continued to spe- 
culate upon the uncertainty of all human schemes, and 
upon the possibility that his dear niece might still be re- 
mitted the trial of marrying one whom she could not 
love. However, when he heard Mark’s message, in 
humble resignation he clasped his hands, bent down his 
head, and exclaimed, “God’s will be done!” 

The aunts busied themselves in making the proper 
purchases — the ceremony was appointed to take place 
in Gower street — a bridal supper was prepared. Old 
Betty, as much bewildered and astonished as aunt Fanny, 
went about setting things in order and arranging Mary’s 
wardrobe as if she were about to depart from them for 
ever; and there was grief and heaviness at the bottom 
of every heart in the house. No one knew what was to 
come forth from this strange state of things, — this hus- 
band and no husband — this fortune and no fortune — 
this great estate and no estate: — was Sir Peregrine in 
existence, or was the whole thing a mockery? Mark 
went and came a hundred times during the day, answer- 
ing every question with dubious answers, — at one time 


188 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


giving hope, at another creating despondency. Mr. 
Fairfax himself was obliged to come and apologise for 
this uncertainty — this appearance of deceit and juggle. 

The day — the last day of the expiring six months at 
length came; and, perhaps, during the course of no 
other persons’ lives, was such a day ever passed as was 
passed by the family of the Allnutts, and those interest- 
ed in the events of which it was portentous, 

Edward Manby, who was one of those principally 
concerned in the result of the events of that day, had of 
course been informed of the exact position in which he 
stood. He was poised upon the alternative of fortune 
or poverty, — of possessing her whom he cherished more 
than life, or of losing her and happiness for ever. 
Notwithstanding his high principles, he could not re- 
frain from being agitated by a thousand conflicting 
emotions. When Mary entreated him to resign him- 
self to their separation, he had done so out of devo- 
tion to her, from that spirit of resignation which always 
beamed in his heart; but now such a strange concur- 
rence of circumstances had accumulated, that his ima- 
gination never conceived could have occurred. If his 
uncle did not arrive by one o’clock after midnight of 
the following day, he became the owner of a large for- 
tune, with the chance of possessing Mary: if, on the 
contrary, he did arrive, then he remained an outcast, 
an adventurer, and a dependant upon his uncle’s 
bounty. 

Early in the morning of the day in question, a mes- 
sage was sent from Gower-street to inquire from Mr. 
Fairfax whether Sir Peregrine was arrived. The 
answer was, “ No, but that he was expected every mo- 
ment.” At noon Mark Woodcock came to say, that 
he had not yet appeared; but that a messenger had been 
dispatched in a swift rowing-boat down the river to 
discover the vessel, and, if possible, to bring Sir Pere- 
grine back with him. 

Towards dinner-time another message came to say, 
that the vessel had certainly passed the Downs, and, 
as the wind was fair, Sir Peregrine might be expected 
during the evening, and that at eight o’clock the cler- 
gyman would be in waiting. 

The Miss Goold Woodbys offered their services to 
be Mary’s bridemaids, and their mother and Lady 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


189 

Thomson threw out hints of their desire to be invited 
to the wedding; but the intimation was received with 
great coolness; for how was it possible, even with the 
best of feeling, to encourage the advances of friendship 
from persons so utterly unworthy of esteem? Mary’s 
bridemaids were to be her aunts; a family arrangement 
much better suited to the quiet ceremony which was 
about to take place. 

The proper license having been obtained, every 
arrangement was made preparatory to the wedding. 
The two aunts appeared in their best, having made up 
new dresses on the occasion. Abel did not spare his 
black trousers and silk stockings, whilst old Betty 
looked renovated in a handsome gown and fresh-colour- 
ed ribands. 

Mark Woodcock, at the appointed hour, introduced 
the clergyman, announcing that it was Mr. Fairfax’s 
intention to bring Sir Peregrine as soon as he should 
arrive. Mary was in readiness, but we will not attempt 
to describe either her appearance or her feelings. They 
could be explained by no comparison that we can de- 
vise; for that of a criminal led to execution would be 
too strong, and that of a lamb led to slaughter inap- 
propriate. 

The whole party (excepting the clergyman) might be 
said to be in a high fever of excitement ; for even Mark, 
from the intense interest which he had taken in the 
whole transaction, was scarcely in possession of his 
reason. The evening was passed without scarcely any 
other words being heard, but ejaculations such as these: 
“ He vvill certainly come” — “ I wonder whether he will 
come” — “ ’Tis strange he does not come” — “ He must 
come” — “ It will really be a miracle if he does come 
now.” Then, when the least noise was heard, “There 
he is? — No — it is not him. — I think there was a knock; 
110 — it was not.” Then, as fast as the hours passed 
away, every one said, “’Tis now past ten;” then, 
“ Eleven is striking.” From that hour to twelve, 
Mary’s heart almost beat audibly: her aunts were 
obliged to administer restoratives. Mark frequently 
looked into the street, for his impatience had exceeded 
all bounds; — Abel walked about and said nothing; — 
the poor divine was kept in small chat by Aunt Fanny; 
whilst Bab nursed Mary. Twelve o’clock struck: 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


190 

Mark returned from the street looking in a state of be- 
wilderment; the clergyman drew forth his book, and 
squared the table with two candles upon it. The hands 
of the clock pointed to half-past twelve: a dead silence 
ensued, — nothing was said, excepting now and then 
Mark exclaiming, “How odd!” The minutes were 
counted, — a distant rumble of a carriage was heard in 
the street: “ There he is!” said Mark. The carriage 
went by: “No, it’s not him.” One o’clock struck: 
Mary was borne away in violent hysterics, and the 
whole scene closed for the night. Edward had been 
watching at the door. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A meeting takes place which portends the termination 
of our history . 

The next morning, Mr. Fairfax having requested 
Edward Manby’s attendance at his oflice, informed him 
with all due formality that, as executor and trustee of 
his late uncle Sir Roger Qldbourn’s will, in consequence 
of his brother not having complied with the provisions 
thereof, he, Edward, was become possessor of the for- 
tune and the estate, provided that in addition to his 
own name he took that of Oldbourn. 

Edward at first would not believe that such could be 
the case, nor was he satisfied until he perused the precise 
words of the will, when he found that in truth he was 
qndowed with the wealth alleged by Mr. Fairfax. Stag- 
gered by this intelligence, he could scarcely be said to be 
overjoyed, for it did not include the possession of the 
only treasure which he prized in the world; namely, the 
hand of his beloved Mary. We pass over all that was 
said on the occasion — the exclamations of surprise at 
the non-appearance of the intended heir, and the con- 
gratulations on the accession of the more fortunate one; 
but go at once to where Mary, her uncle and aunts, 
were collected together in earnest discussion upon the 
strange event which had taken place. Mary’s agitation 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


J 91 


on the preceding night had been so great, that her rela- 
tions were fearful lest her former disorder should return 
with a fatal result to the future sanity of her mind; but 
so well had she succeeded in acquiring control over her 
feelings, that, to their astonishment, the next morning, 
they found her in full possession of her reason. She 
had ardently prayed for a speedy termination to her 
preeent state of uncertainty; and, in so doing, she 
strengthened that resignation which is the basis of every 
religious feeling, and presented a calm, though serious 
aspect, when every one who saw her expected to see her 
sinking under nervous agitation. Bab came to the con- 
clusion that her intended was a madman, — Fanny as- 
serted that she would rather die than marry one who 
had forgotten his engagements, — and Abel avowed that 
all was for the best, not daring to give utterance to his 
hopes that the present contingency would bring about 
that result for which they all so much yearned. 

Du ring their conversation, Abel was called away to 
attend one asking to see him; and he immediately sus- 
pected it to be Edward Manby. He was not mistaken: 
the first impulse of Edward, after the interview which 
he had had with Mr. Fairfax, was to seek his friend 
Abel. When they met, Edward informed Abel of the 
new and extraordinary aspect which his affairs had 
taken, and proclaimed his intention of renouncing the 
fortune of which he had become the possessor, in favour 
of its intended owner. He was determined to do this 
principally from the desire of not destroying the pro- 
spects of Mary; and then he continued to argue, that as 
the object of the testator was about to be fulfilled in the 
marriage which would speedily take place, he did not 
see why he was to take advantage of a mere casualty in 
order to destroy the real intention of the will. He said 
this with a humility of feeling, and with a total absence 
of display, that can only belong to the really pure and 
honest of heart, and the effect which it had upon Abel 
was as if an angel spoke. 

Abel said little; for his heart was too full to utter; 
but his whole manner showed how deeply he was affect- 
ed. He would have given free scope to the expression 
of his hope; but he feared to excite Edward to expect 
what perhaps might never come to pass, seeing that 
Mary was still as much bound as ever to the baronet: 


192 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


he therefore restricted himself to making him assurances 
of his friendship, and expressing his admiration of his 
noble and disinterested conduct. 

Edward no sooner returned to his lodgings, than he 
received a note from Mr. Fairfax, informing him of the 
arrival of his uncle, Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, and re- 
questing him to call, in order that he might have the 
pleasure of making them acquainted. 

It appears that this event, — namely, the arrival of Sir 
Peregrine, — took place iust twenty-four hours after the 
time that he ought to have arrived. Having resisted 
landing at Dover, he persevered in accompanying his 
antiquarian treasures to the very custom-house in Lon- 
don, by which act he dispossessed himself of the fortune 
awaiting him ; a circumstance which almost passed un- 
heeded in his mind, so totally was he wrapt up in his 
own immediate pursuits. To the very last, he would 
not separate himself from his Venus; but having landed 
the statue, with his baggage, he betook himself to an 
hotel, of which he had not happened to forget the name, 
where having established himself with his foreign serv- 
ants, he then sent for Mr. Fairfax. In the room allotted 
to him, he deposited his beautiful statue, together with 
other of his favourite relics, and there he awaited the 
solicitor; the whole scheme and object of Mark Wood- 
cock’s visit to him at Smyrna being faintly present to 
his memory. 

Mark, at the request of Mr. Fairfax, accompanied 
him to visit the baronet; and we would endeavour, were 
it in our power, to give to our reader the impression 
which Sir Peregrine’s \Vhole appearance made upon the 
matter-of-fact man of business, and in some less degree 
upon his companion. He was arrayed in a suit of 
clothes made by a Greek tailor at Athens, which he 
fondly flattered himself would place him on an equality 
with men of the best fashion in his own country, and 
these he put on out of compliment to London, because 
usually he clothed himself with any piece of Eastern 
costume that came to hand upon getting out of bed in 
the morning. He consequently looked more like a con- 
vict condemned to do penance in bags with holes cut 
into them, than a gentleman dressed for pleasure. The 
fashion of his face and hair was still Oriental, for it had 
been trimmed by a Greek barber: he wore yellow pa- 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 193 

bouches, and a sash round his waist, and disdained the 
use of a neckcloth. 

When Mr. Fairfax entered he was seated on the 
ground cross-legged, examining an old coin; and when 
he arose to receive him, the solicitor looked some time 
at him ere he could believe that this was the represen- 
tative of a long line of baronets. Sir Peregrine inspect- 
ed them both, and recognising Mark, he exclaimed, 
“Ah! my dear Mr. Wood, how do you do?” Mark 
took him by the hand and said, “Cock, if you please.” 

“Ah, true, true,” said the oblivious man; “you al- 
ways were jealous of the cock. — How do you do, Mr. 
Cockwood ?” 

“ Woodcock , if you please,” cried Mark. 

“I beg your pardon, I shall have it at last. But is 
this Mr. Fairfax?” Upon which, the recognition hav- 
ing taken place, the antiquary turned round, and point- 
ing to his Venus, exclaimed, “Here let me introduce 
you to the wonder of the age! Of course you have heard 
of my celebrated Venus?” 

“No, sir,” said Mr. Fairfax; “although I have seen 
your live one.” 

“Ah, that’s very well,” said the antiquary, not in the 
least heeding to what he alluded; “but you know per- 
haps that some have asserted that it is a Latona? But 
that is a fallacy, believe me it is. I think I can prove 
beyond a doubt, that this is either the chef-d’oeuvre of 
Praxiteles — the very Venus of Cnidus, which, in the 
frequent revolutions among the Greeks, might have 
been deposited among the wonders at Delos. But it is 
not a Latona — it has none of the characteristics of that 
goddess; — do you think it has, now, Mr. Fairfax?” said 
he, turning abruptly towards him. 

“I really cannot say,” said the man of business. 

“You cannot say !” exclaimed the antiquary. “May- 
be then, you area Latonian — pray explain your rea- 
sons.” 

“Indeed, sir,” said the lawyer, “1 am not versed in 
these matters: I can scarcely tell you whether a piece 
of art be well or ill done. I am a great deal better 
versed in statutes than in statues.” 

“But you, Mr. Woodcock,” said the enthusiastic 
man, — “you have been in Asia, you are a travelled man, 
you have seen the miraculous works of the ancients on 

VOL. ii. — 1 7 x 


194 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


their own soil; tell me, have you ever seen anything 
more exquisite in its proportions, more lovely in its ex- 
pression than that statue? Now tell me honestly.” 

“No, indeed,” said Mark with hesitation, looking all 
the while with a critic’s eye at the beautiful object be- 
fore him; “no, I can’t say 1 have, although I have seen 
all the old things in the British Museum.” 

The antiquary turned away without saying a word 
more, when Mr. Fairfax, having summoned up all his 
courage, said, “We have been waiting for you with ex- 
treme impatience, Sir Peregrine; and it is very painful 
to me to inform you that you arrived just twenty-four 
hours too late to save the fortune left to you by your 
late lamented brother. Every preparation was made to 
the very last moment, in order that you might fulfil his 
intentions; a wife, a most charming and unexceptiona- 
ble young lady, was awaiting you — and had you but ar- 
rived a day sooner, I should have had the great satisfac- 
tion of accomplishing, as executor and trustee, the 
wishes and intentions of my late lamented friend and 
patron. But as it is, the law must take its course; and 
the estate goes to your nephew, Mr. Edward Manby. 
The wife is still at your disposal — she is bound under a 
bond to marry you, and by that bond she still abides.” 

Sir Peregrine, during this speech, sat immovable; his 
countenance never changing, nor his person exhibiting 
the least sign of agitation. After having kept silence 
for a short time, he said, “Am I bound to marry her?” 

“Why, sir, as to that,” said the lawyer, “although 
there are penalties on both sides, still 1 think, if after 
you have seen her you would wish to be disengaged from 
your obligation, there would be not much difficulty to 
encounter.” 

“That’s well I” said Sir Peregrine; “we must see what 
is to be done. You will advise me; — I have been un- 
lucky in my voyage, — was detained at Athens by an 
unforeseen accident; but the possession of that beauti- 
ful object” (pointing to his statue) “has repaid me for 
all. You know the Oldbourns make but poor husbands, 
and perhaps the young lady will have a lucky escape if 
she does not marry me. However, I have no objection 
to see her; I would not do an improper thing on any 
account.” 

Mr. Fairfax then entered into a full explanation as to 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


195 


the steps he had taken to procure a proper wife; that he 
had succeeded in securing one who corresponded in 
every respect to the person described in the will, and 
particularly dwelt upon the ancient descent of her fa- 
mily, a circumstance which he thought would be likely 
to awaken an interest in his client’s breast. 

Sir Peregrine listened with attention; but antiquity, 
as characterising a living person, had no charms for him, 
and he waved the subject as if he were anxious to drive 
the subject of marriage from his mind. “I make no 
doubt,” said he, “that the lady is everything that is 
proper, and 1 am much obliged to you for the care that 
you have taken of my interests; but I think, Mr. Fair- 
fax, you said that my nephew is to have the Oldbourn 
property? Let me see my nephew — I long to see one 
of my own family; and allow me to ask you something 
about him. Does he show any of the Oldbourn blood? 
My poor sister was a charming creature before she 
married; but after that fatal event we never saw her 
more.” 

“Your nephew,” said Mr. Fairfax, “is a most re- 
markable young man, and will not fail to do credit to 
your name, or to any name that he may bear. It is in- 
deed a great pity that he was so neglected by his mo- 
ther’s family; but the circumstance of his having been 
bulleted about the world, may perhaps have been the 
means of forming his fine manly character, — a charac- 
ter which, had it run the usual career of young men of 
family and fashion, might perhaps have remained com- 
monplace and insignificant. I think you will be greatly 
pleased wtth him. 1 have written to inform him of your 
arrival, and I shall not fail to bring him to you imme- 
diately.” 

“Do you think he has any love for antiquity!” said 
the baronet, quite elated with Mr. Fairfax’s description. 
“Has he sufficient taste to appreciate the Oldbourn col- 
lection?” 

“I believe him to be very highly educated,” said the 
lawyer, “and am sure that he has a mind sufficiently 
refined to appreciate excellence wherever he may find 
it.” 

“I long to show him my Venus!” exclaimed the an- 
tiquary. 

“If any one can value it as it ought,” said Mr. Fair- 


196 


ABEL ALLInUTT. 


fax, “you may be certain that he will. I have never 
before met with a person possessing so true a judgment 
as Mr. Manby; but I will forthwith bring him to you, 
and you shall judge for yourself.” Upon which, taking 
their leave, the solicitor, followed by Mark, left the 
room. 

As soon as they had got fairly into the street, Mr. 
Fairfax exclaimed, “Well, I never could have con- 
ceived the existence of such an individual! Why, he 
out-stoics every stoic of ancient times! he gives up an 
immense fortune as easily as I would relinquish my 
breakfast!” 

“But he would not give up his statue, though,” said 
Mark; “he’d fight, till he died first. Old rubbish is the 
god he adores — he doesn’t care a pin for lucre. Why, 
he has got an old brass nail that he wouldn’t give for 
any amount of three per cents., or for any quantity of 
lands and tenements that you could offer to him. Just 
ask him to show you that old nail, and you’ll see what 
a fuss he will make about it!” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Apparent miseries work for our good. When 'happi- 
ness does come at the end of a book , it is generally 
supreme. 

As soon as Mr. Fairfax reached home, he found Ed- 
ward Manby waiting for him, who, anxious to become 
acquainted with his uncle, had not lost a moment in 
obeying the summons he had received. The lawyer 
giving him an account of his first interview, prepared 
him for the sort of personage he was about to meet; and 
thought it right, moreover, to hint the repugnance which 
he still showed to marriage, and the desire he expressed 
to be freed from the bond which at present united him 
to Miss Allnutt. When Edward heard these words, he 
was seized with a confusion of sensations so sudden that 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


197 

he was scarcely able to stand. A vague and indefinite 
hope had occasionally run through his mind that some 
casualty might operate in his favour and give him the 
possession of his beloved Mary, but he always chased 
the thought from his mind as felicity too much for mor- 
tal to expect. When he heard from Mr. Fairfax how 
likely it became that this hope might be realised, he 
could scarcely restrain his emotion. He endeavoured 
to suppress it to the utmost of his power, and hoping 
that his agitation was unobserved by his companion, he 
followed him to his uncle’s. 

Perhaps another less scrupulous than Edward would 
have now annulled the intention of restoring the for- 
tune which had devolved to him ; but as he walked on- 
ward he determined even now, after what he had heard, 
not to be cheated out of his integrity, and he strength- 
ened himself in his original resolution by every argu- 
ment which honour and honesty could devise, notwith- 
standing the fascinating hope that had been held out to 
him. 

When Edward entered the room with Mr. Fairfax, 
his uncle immediately stepped up to him and welcomed 
him with as much cordiality as if they had been long 
acquainted. He eyed him with great earnestness, and 
as soon as Edward spoke he exclaimed, “The Oldbourn 
nose and mouth all over! I see your mother’s expres- 
sion in every look!” Without scarcely giving him 
time to speak, he took him to his Venus and said, 
“There! what do you think of that?” expecting that 
one with Oldbourn blood in his veins wmuld instantly 
be as much fascinated by a piece of antiquity, as a tho- 
rough-bred pointer would w ith the scent of game. 

Although Edward’s mind and heart were full of 
other things, still, being an excessive admirer and an 
equally good judge of art, he could not refrain from 
being "much struck by the beauty of the statue before 
him. His admiration was genuine — ins first sensations; 
true, and his observations so just, that Sir Peregrine 
could almost have devoured him with delight. The 
antiquary first looked at him, then at his statue, then at 
him again, as if his existence depended upon Edward’s 
decision. 

At length he said, with an inquiring look, “You 
agree that it is a Venus?” • 

17 * 


198 


ABEL ALLNTJTT. 


“Certainly,” said Edward — “but perhaps ” 

“Perhaps what?” exclaimed his uncle. 

“ — Perhaps it might be the Phryne as Venus Ana- 
dyoinene of Praxiteles. I think it was consecrated in 
the Temple at Delos — does not Pgusanias say so? I 
dare say you will help me if I am right — but you must 
know best.” 

Upon hearing these words, the antiquary positively 
danced about the room with delight; then running up 
and embracing Edward,' he exclaimed, “My dear ne- 
phew, you are right — you are right. The whole thing 
is now before me — we both are in the right. Praxiteles 
did make a statue of Phryne: it was his masterpiece. 
She put a trick upon him: he was struck by her beauty 
at the sea-shore — he there planned his Venus coming 
out of the sea. You are right — and this is the very 
statue, there is no doubt of it. I’ll throw all my dis- 
sertations in the fire and write new ones.” 

Charmed with Edward, his learning, and his taste, he 
could not sufficiently express the delight of possessing 
him as a relation, and he would have continued to de- 
scant upon the everlasting subject of his collections 
and his literary schemes, had he not been stopped by 
Mr. Fairfax, whose time being precious, put him upon 
the less agreeable subject of his own affairs. It was 
then that Edward, having made a few preliminary re- 
marks upon the delicate situation in which by circum- 
stances of a most extraordinary nature he had been 
placed in an energetic and decided manner avowed 
himself ready to renounce in favour of its intended 
owner the. large fortune which had devolved upon him. 

The lawyer and the antiquary upon hearing this de- 
claration looked both equally astonished. “A second 
Zeno!” exclaimed the one, — “This is unheard of!” 
exclaimed the other. 

Sir Peregrine at length, apparently laying aside all 
his eccentricities, and talking like other men, said with 
emphasis, “My dear nephew, the little I have seen of 
you has excited my highest admiration, and this last 
trait of your character convinces me more than any- 
thing else, that you alone are worthy to possess the 
fortune which by circumstances has fallen to your lot. 
In your hands it must and shall remain — for in truth it 
will be a great relief to me that this arrangement should 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


199 


hold good. I have a fortune sufficient at present for 
all my wants — more would be an incumbrance. My 
pleasures lie in my books, my antiquities, and in the 
society of men of my tastes; and now that I have found 
in you one whom had my brother known, he would 
have cherished even as much as I ever will cherish; — I 
am sure he would have been delighted to know that his 
fortune was to fall into your hands; — I therefore insist 
upon your retaining the possession of that which was 
intended for me. Your society, your house and its 
vast collections, will ever, 1 am sure, be open to me 
the same as if they were my own; and I shall enjoy 
everything that I can can require, without the trouble 
of superintendence. But there only remains one thing 
to dispose of, which, I will not hide from you, gives 
me serious uneasiness; — that is, the young lady who is 
to be my wife.” 

At these words all Edward’s agitation returned, and 
one might have seen every pulse throb, so seriously was 
he excited. Mr. Fairfax, looking at him, and under- 
standing the confusion of his looks, said- smiling, to 
Sir Peregrine, ‘‘Why, as to that, sir, your nephew 
there, who in taking every thing from you, seems only 
to increase your pleasure, I make no doubt will take 
your wife off your hands, as well as your fortune.” 

“Will he indeed!” exclaimed the baronet, his face 
lighting up into extravagant joy, as if he had received 
a reprieve from death. — “How can this be?” 

“My dear sir,” said Edward, “I will not detain you 
by a long recital of the various extraordinary events 
which have so fallen out as to make the interesting per- 
son whom I had once hoped to call my own, and her 
who is bound to you as your wife, one and the same in- 
dividual. In renouncing her hand, you put the seal 
upon my happiness, and, I may venture to say, upon 
hers. Necessity of the most pressing nature threw her 
into vour hands— earlier attachment into mine. Should 
vou confirm your resolution after you have seen her, 
(which, alas! I fear and doubt,) you will render two 
mortals supremely happy.” 

The baronet was a second time thrown into a rapture 
of delight. “You charm me,” said he. “You ask no 
sacrifice of me — it is a blessing which you confer. I 
am not made for married life — I can add to no one’s 


200 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


happiness, and therefore it is wicked in me to attempt 
it. I therefore freely give up my pretensions to you; 
and now let us go and say so to the lady herself, for al- 
ready I ought to have gone through the ceremony of 
being presented to her.” 

The ecstasy of joy into which Edward was thrown 
upon finding the turn which his affairs had taken may 
be more easily conceived then described. He felt as if 
the whole were a dream, and had not sufficient power 
over himself to decide at the moment what to do; but 
whilst his uncle went to prepare himself for going out, 
like one impelled more by instinct than reason, without 
saying whither he went, he left Mr. Fairfax in the room 
by himself, and having got into the street, he actually 
ran, for walking was too slow for his impatience, and 
scarcely knowing how he had got thither, he found him- 
self breathless and bewildered at the door of his friend 
Abel. Knocking violently, he was immediately ad- 
mitted; and when he saw him, threw himself into his 
arms. 

“What can have happened?” said Abel, staring with 
astonishment. “Edward, are you mad?” 

“I am very nearly so,” said Edward, “but with joy. 
Mary is mine — for ever mine! Oh, let me see her to 
tell her so! I have spoken to my uncle, and he gives 
her up. Where is she?” 

Abel, having in some measure anticipated this event, 
caught the infection of Edward’s joy, and exhibited 
strong symptoms of the greatest exhilaration; and he 
would have seconded his desire to be the harbinger of 
the news to Mary, had not his prudence very seasonably 
overtaken him and made him pause. 

“My dear Edward,” he said, “for pity’s sake calm 
your feelings: let us be cautious — this must be broken 
to Mary by degrees, or else we may have to rue our 
precipitation. Her state of health is far from strong; 
her nerves at this particular moment are so treacherous 
that any great shock of pleasure or of pain might des- 
troy the powers of her mind, and the consequences 
might be fatal. Let me first go and prepare her to see 
you.” 

Edward with repugnance consented to his proposal; 
and he condemned himself to the penance of being su- 
premely happy by himself, in the very same spot where 
not long since he had been so supremely miserable. 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


201 


Ever since the night when she waited with bitter ex- 
pectation to be united to her intended, Mary had been 
torn by a thousand conflicting hopes and fears, which 
combined would probably have destroyed the equili- 
brium of her mind, had she not been supported by the 
all-powerful aid of religion. She never for a moment 
allowed herself to loose sight of its consolations; and 
having made that take the first place in her mind, the 
world and its cares became secondary in her consider- 
ation. She was seated in the drawing-room with her 
aunts: they had heard the rapid knock of Edward at 
the door, had duly wondered what it could portend, 
and had scarcely finished their speculations, when Abel, 
with a face usually so calm and serious, now so beam- 
ing with joy, came in, and with cautious words and 
mystery in his manner, prepared his niece for what was 
to happen. 

When ecstacies are once elicited, what language can 
give a due description of the exciting causes? The 
woe-stricken maiden having at the first word of hope 
pronounced by her uncle caught up the whole of his 
meaning, as when a match is put to a grain of powder 
in a train of fireworks, the whole ignites and casts a 
brilliant and dazzling light, so she suddenly was exci- 
ted into rapturous delight. When she heard the words, 
“Sir Peregrine annuls the bond and Edward is here,’* 
she flew towards Abel, and throwing herself upon his 
neck, wept aloud, thus relieving her heart of that ac- 
cumulation of woe that had so long preyed upon it, and 
hailing the happiness of her future life as a gift from 
Heaven. 

The old aunts almost danced with joy, and whilst 
Abel was giving courage and pleasure to Mary, they 
ran down stairs to Edward, who having expended part 
of the ebullition of his feelings in kissing their old 
faces, in another second was locked in the arms of the 
adored and expectant mistress of his heart. 

They had not long enjoyed the raptures of inter- 
changing their mutual sentiments, before Sir Peregrine 
and Mr. Fairfax were announced. Uncle Abel and his 
sisters received them with the greatest welcome in 
their looks, and although they said little, evinced by 
their attentions and the pleasure whi^h beamed in their 
faces how much they would say when a proper oppor- 
tunity should offer. 


202 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


Sir Peregrine, having abstracted himself from his 
favourite pursuits, did not allow his usual absence of 
mind to stand in the way of his good breeding; and al- 
though nothing could entirely subdue the habitual ec- 
centricity of his manner and appearance, still nothing 
also can entirely conceal those particular tokens by 
which a man is discovered to be a gentleman. In mak- 
ing a few polite speeches, apologizing for the delay of 
his appearance, and explaining that delay, his eye caught 
a glimpse of Edward; who had retired to the recess of 
the window with Mary, both their backs being turned 
towards him, and he exclaimed, “So, my gallant ne- 
phew, you are here! we thought you lost. 1 ’ 

Edward turned quickly round, and with him his fair 
companion, beaming with a beauty so entirely capti- 
vating, that as she approached the baronet, he retreated 
some steps, as if his own statue had received animation 
and was walking towards him. 

“This is my niece Mary Allnutt.” said Uncle Abel 
to the awe-stricken gentleman, who stood with his 
mouth open and with his eyes as much fascinated 
as when he had been first introduced to his Venus at 
Delos. 

Without replying a word to Abel, he turned towards 
Mr. Fairfax, and in an under voice said, “Is this the 
lady whom I have kept in waiting?” 

Fairfax having assured him that it was, he assumed 
the look of a man angry with himself for having given 
away a good thing. His usual apathy and indifference 
of manner forsook him; he almost coloured — his hands 
became spasmodic — he said a few incoherent words, and 
looked anything but like one of the Grecian sages whom 
it was his ambition to rival. 

Edward, who stood by observing, dived at once, with 
the quick apprehension of a lover, into his uncle’s sen- 
sations; and a deadly fear overtook him, lest he should 
have repented of the cession he had made, and require 
the accomplishment of his bond. As fast as this fear 
increased, so did the colour forsake his face; and had 
Mary not been taken up with making herself agreeable 
to one who now was entitled to her gratitude, she very 
probably would not have so exercised her dangerous 
power of fascination. 

Mr. Fairfax, seeing the effect which Mary’s beauty 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


203 


had produced upon his client, and having cast an eye of 
commiseratioli upon Edward, now came forward, and 
taking the bond from his pocket, said to Sir Peregrine, 
“This is the bond which Miss Allnutt has signed, which 
I executed in your name, and which bound you to each 
other as man and wife. Is it your mutual pleasure that 
it be destroyed ?” In saying this he held it in both his 
hands, in the act of tearing. 

Sir Peregrine with unusual activity bounded forwards, 
and seizing it, said, “Stay your hand!” 

Edward on seeing this became pale, and even looked 
like death. He could not utter a word, for what could 
he say? His uncle held the deed fast clenched, and, 
with eyes devouring Mary’s beauty, looked like that 
figure in the well-known picture which stands wrapt in 
uncertainty between Virtue and Vice. “I am Miss 
Allnut’s slave!” said the baronet, at length finding 
courage to speak: “let her pronounce my doom, and I 
obey.” 

Mary having by this time cast her eyes upon the de- 
sponding Edward, and catching the contagion of his 
fear, -with woman’s wit, and with a voice as gentle and 
persuasive as the softest harmony, said, “Mr. Manby 
and myself are both of us dependent upon Sir Peregrine 
Oldbourn’s generosity. A word from him will render 
us happy — the contrary I fear!” and she finished her 
sentence by tears. 

Edward’s uncle, upon hearing these words, without a 
moment’s delay took the deed in both his hands, and 
tore it in half, saying aloud, “What folly have I been 
committing!” — then thrusting forward his hand to Ed^ 
ward, he said, “Excuse my weakness — I was not pre- 
pared for such incomparable beauty, such surpassing- 
excellence ! May every blessing and happiness attend 
you both! There! take her — no one can merit such a 
treasure as well as yourself: and now let us think of 
the wedding.” 


£04 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Should we have led the reader to make one serious reflec- 
tion when he closes our story , we shall conceive our 
labours well repaid. 

We would willingly here have closed our narrative; 
for, having secured happiness and prosperity to our 
principal personages, we do not think that in justice the 
reader can require more at our hands. Still, we feel 
called upon to administer poetical justice to those who, 
in a secondary capacity, have been accessories to pro- 
ducing this result, and we begin with the Goold 
Wood by s. 

Edward having returned to his lodgings elated with 
love and joy, was surprised by receiving a visit from 
Tom Woodby. It seems that his mother, in conse- 
quence of the scheme which she had put forth in the 
conversation with Lady Thomson, recorded in a former 
chapter, had written first a pressing invitation to Edward 
to dinner, and afterwards one still more pressing to take 
up his quarters in their house. These he had most po- 
sitively rejected, and for obvious reasons. The wily 
woman, determined not to be foiled, persuaded her son 
to endeavour to renew his former acquaintance with 
Edward; and this visit was the result of that act of 
persuasion. 

Tom approached him with outstretched hand, and 
with every cringing and fawning demonstration of inti- 
macy; when Edward stopped him short, and rejecting 
his hand, said, “Mr. Woodby, I will be plain with you, 
and explain in two words why I disclaim all further 
intercourse with you and your family. Your conduct 
to me when I was in adversity does not warrant this 
proffered friendship now that 1 am likely to enjoy the 
reverse. Of that, however, I take no count; but the 
knowledge which I have acquired of the base conduct 
of your family to my friends, and who are shortly to be 
my relations, the Allnutts, and your own atrocious pro- 
fligacy, impels me to inform you that I feel myself 
degraded by any further acquaintance with you. I 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


205 


therefore request you to leave me instantly, and never 
again to show your face within my doors.” 

On hearing these words, the defeated wretch exhi- 
bited all the villany of his nature in the expression of 
his countenance, and began to bluster and to talk of 
satisfaction; when Edward, opening the door and point- 
ing to it, said, “ This, sir, is your way out; and now 
you know the terms upon which we are and ever shall 
be towards each other.” 

Tom would still have delayed, and continued to 
bluster; but seeing the cool and determined position 
which Edward had taken up, he thought it proper to 
retreat, exclaiming as he made a rapid descent down 
the stairs, “You shall hear from me again!” accompa- 
nying this vain threat by a running fire of oaths, which 
continued crescendo until he closed them by a violent 
concussion of the street-door. It need not be said, that 
Edward never felt the result of his threat, nor ever saw 
him more. 

When the Wood by family, foiled in securing the 
friendship of either Edward or the Allnutts, became 
acquainted with the result of Edward’s history, and 
that he was to marry Mary Allnutt, (for the strange 
event was in everybody’s mouth,) they felt as if a per- 
sonal injury and insult had been done to them, and 
they went about almost foaming at the mouth. 

“Is it not a shame,” said Mrs. Woodby, “that those 
infamous people should be marrying at this rate, when 
we were the first to make them acquainted? And if it 
had not been for our fancy-ball, and our house, and our 
supper, they never would have known eacli other — a 
set of proud wretches, with their earl for a relation ! 
But I ’ll be even with them — I ’ll let them starve first, 
before they shall ever set foot in Belvedere Hall 
again!” 

“The girl, after all, is not to be Lady Oldbourn,” 
said Lady Thomson. “In justice to myself, I must say, 
that it would have been a crying shame, that a pert 
thing like her should have walked out of the room be- 
fore me!” 

“I wonder Tom did not call that poor creature Ed- 
ward Manby out,” said Anne, “for his impertinence 
in saying he no longer wished for our acquaintance. 
If I was a man, I ’d go and pull his nose.” 

VOL. II. — 18 


206 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


“Edward can pull noses as well as the best of them,” 
said Ellen, still upholding the former man of her heart. 
“Although he is a faithless villain, still he is no cow- 
ard.” 

They almost worked themselves into a fever of envy 
as fast as they heard of the excessive happiness and 
prosperity which now pervaded the Allnutts. Ivycote 
was once again to be inhabited by Uncle Abel and his 
sisters, — the Mexican funds were looking up, — and 
John Allnutt was soon expected. Their evil passions 
were kept alive by Mark Woodcock, who, with the 
best of dispositions for doing good, had a sufficient 
spice of malice in his composition to enjoy their 
torments, did not fail to inform them, in the most high- 
sounding words, of the flood of wealth and worldly pros- 
perity which was daily pouring over them. Even he, 
Mark, had the satisfaction in his own person to add to 
their mortification; for Mrs. Woodby, viewing him as a 
rising man in his profession, and as one who in the 
course of things was likely to be one of those who rub 
themselves against lords and dignitaries, had selected 
him as fit to be a son-in-law; but the clear-sighted law- 
yer soon perceiving her intentions, did not leave her in 
doubt about his views, for he ceased to accept 
her invitations, and, to use his words, “cut the old 
one dead.” And the event proved the excellence of 
his discrimination: for old Woodby having speculated 
in the funds out of his depth, became half-ruined, — 
was obliged to sell Belvedere, to put down his fine car- 
riage, his servants in plush and tags, and to retire to a 
villa at Brixton; whilst Tom became a blackleg of the 
first notoriety, his nose being so accustomed to pulling, 
that it was the acknowledged place of essay for young 
practitioners in gambling and broils. Anne at length 
succeeded in marrying Captain Swaggle, who was 
fairly cajoled into thinking her “a great City catch;” 
and Ellen, after many unsuccessful attempts at gaining 
an establishment, went upon the stage and acted cham- 
bermaids or love-sick damsels. 

As for Lady Thomson, having made her last curtsy 
to the Woodbys and their prosperity, avowing that she 
owed it to herself and she always made it a rule never 
to associate with those who could not keep their own 
coach, she duly bestowed herself upon another rising 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


207 


family, new to wealth, aspiring to fashion and Chelten- 
ham, and in the same manner as she had presided over the 
destinies of her former friends, so she ruled over her 
new; trading upon the advantage of being her ladyship, 
and hiring herself out as a sort of job Lady Bab Frightful 
to novices in the ways of the world. Lord Demone 
continued to be a wit and a sensualist as long as he had 
sensation and intellect left to support those characters; 
after which he became a morose old man, at variance 
with the world, complaining of its neglect, and dying 
with regret that he had not made a better use of life. 
Simpleton Sharp, having strained hard for nearly a 
quarter of a century to say a good thing, at length suc- 
ceeded in producing a tolerable pun, upon the celebrity 
of which he lived contented, and which contributed 
much to make him die happy. 

Thus having given a short sketch of those who 
probably have created as little interest in the breasts 
of our readers as their prototypes in reality would 
be likely to do, we hasten to return to the scene of 
joy and happiness which we had left. There only 
wanted one requisite to the complete satisfaction 
of all parties, and that was the return of Mary’s father, 
an event which was not long delayed. Accounts were 
received from him from. the East Indies, which he reach- 
ed after leaving Acapulco, having previously touched 
at Manilla; and he announced his intention of returning 
to England through Egypt, in order to make the ruler of 
that vast country partake of his schemes for improving 
and civilizing his dominions. 

In the mean while, preparations for the wedding 
went on with the greatest vigour. Aunt Bab, who 
had never before presided at such a ceremony, liv- 
ed in a state of constant wonder and alarm at the im- 
mense number of things which she was assured were 
indispensable for the outfit of a modern bride; and when 
the French milliner gave in a catalogue of the articles 
which composed the trousseau , (which Bab always pro- 
nounced trusso! ) her face exhibited a length as long as 
the said catalogue. As for Aunt Fanny, she lived in a 
state of joyful excitement, looking over gowns, exam- 
ining petticoats, and trying on silk stockings. 

At length, some few* days before the ceremony was 
to take place, John Allnutt, or, as he was usually call- 


208 


ABEL ALLNUTT. 


eel, the Major, actually did arrive; and we will not at- 
tempt to describe the joy which he diffused by his time- 
ly appearance. Mary’s happiness was now without 
alloy, for she was blest by her father’s approbation ot 
her marriage; and Edward was delighted to be acquaint- 
ed with his father-in-law, and at length to see the man 
whom he had chased from the Atlantic to the Pacific 
without seeing him. The Major was revelling in de- 
light; and having now seen enough of the world to find 
out that its inhabitants were determined to go their own 
way to work in search of happiness, he allowed every 
preparation for the wedding of his daughter to proceed 
unmolested. But one thing which pleased him more 
than all, was, that he was enabled to make an appro- 
priate gift to Sir Peregrine Oldbourn, and accordingly- 
presented him with a most magnificent mummy which 
he had brought from Thebes. Sir Peregrine was much 
moved by this delicate attention, and in return selected 
from out of the Oldbourn collection, much prized by the 
learned, and highly valued by collectors on account of 
its scarcity, a Roman weathercock, with all the proper 
rust upon it, and with the points of the compass proper- 
ly marked, which he duly laid at the feet of his intend- 
ed father-in-law. These and such like acts of friend- 
ship having taken place, a perfect union existing be- 
tween all parties, all legal adjustments having been con- 
cluded by the active Mark, who became all in all to 
the whole party, the happy couple were duly taken to 
St. George’s church, and thence launched into matri- 
mony through the medium of a new travelling carriage 
and four horses, which darting through the gaping mul- 
titude, carried them to the shades of Oldbourn Hall. 

There they lived— -there they flourished, dispensing- 
happiness to all around; and there we will leave them 
to the undisturbed possession of their well-merited fe- 
licity. 


Those who, like children, read the fable merely for 
amusement’s sake, without looking at the ‘moral’ at the 
end, to such we recommend them here to close the book. 


ABEL ALLNUT. 


209 


The few words we have still to say will explain why 
we have exalted the lowly Abel to our title page, when 
perhaps it may be said he is not the principal person 
concerned; and those few words we wish to produce as 
our “moral.” 

Ever since that good man’s confinement in prison, his 
health had been on the decline. On a person and fea- 
tures like his, which always looked sickly, the progress 
of disease was not so remarkable as upon that of a man 
in strong health: consequently, although he himself felt 
that his strength was much impaired, and that the func- 
tions of life were gradually declining, still others did 
not perceive the decay. His affectionate niece, it is 
true, would occasionally, with tears in her eyes, gaze 
upon his calm and resigned face, and, taking his hand, 
would entreat him to tell her whether he was quite well, 
and he would assure her that he was as well as usual; but 
others, and even his sisters, did not remark the slow 
effects of a fatal disorder. He indeed in secret che- 
rished the hope that his life might be a short one: he 
lived in one continued act of preparation for death, — his 
thoughts were entirely abstracted from the world; and 
whilst others only dreamt of realities, he, with specu- 
lative contemplation, would endeavour to pierce the 
secrets of that future state of existence which is pro- 
mised as the haven of rest from the cares of this life. 

With such a mind, and with such views, whilst he 
was overlooked among men and even contemned as in- 
significant, he enjoyed more real happiness than the 
most blessed in worldly circumstances basking in the 
sunshine of the world. It is because he was in our es- 
timation as nearly perfect in character, exercising the 
many virtues which form the Christian man, that we 
promoted him as the hero of our title-page, — a promo- 
tion which he would certainly never have enjoyed from 
other hands; for we suspect that there are many such 
characters in existence, who, with the ill looks of our 
hero, enjoy also his Modesty and his peace of mind, 
and it is to do tfiem* honour that we venture to take 
this step. 

The honeymoon had scarcely expired before the 
happy Mary was called upon to attend her sick, and 
(it w'as no longer a secret) her dyin^ uncle. She was 
accompanied by Edward, and with breathless speed 


210 


ABEL ALLNUT. 


reached the house in Gower-street where he lay. They 
found him in full possession of his reason, though 
scarcely able to make his words understood. But 
words were not necessary to explain the state of his 
mind, when his countenance, upon which was imprint- 
ed the liveliness of his faith and the soothing character 
of his hope, was there to speak for him. Could he have 
thus been paraded among the haunts of the wicked, and 
exhibited to the thoughtless man of the world, with a 
superscription to say, “See the death of a true Chris- 
tian;” such an exhibition would have tended more to 
draw men from evil ways, and bring them to a sense of 
what they will all surely come to, than all the sermons 
and homilies in the world. 

With slow accents, he said: “Though death be bitter, 
still this is happiness — this is my happiness; therefore 
rejoice wdth me. I know that you have all the same 
hope -that I have; therefore we only separate to meet 
again. I die, relying on the promises of our Saviour. — 
Dearest Mary, and you, my good Edward, — you must 
and will have your "trials; but faint not, persevere in 
all good. My dear Barbara, and you, my dear Fanny, — 
but a few more years and you will be where I am; then 
think on me, and think how happy I am. John! take 
my place, — comfort our sisters, I bequeath them to 
you.” 

These words w r ere said at intervals; but whilst they 
gave pain to the dying man in the utterance, they ex- 
tracted a beaming of almost divine expression from his 
sinking eye; and certainly, if the grave was ever swal- 
lowed up in victory, it was here. He died with Mary’s 
hand clasped in one of his, and Edward’s in the other; 
and holy was the sorrow which burst forth as soon as 
his soul had taken its flight. May the death of every 
one of my readers be like his! 

623 


THE END. 


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